


A Prince and His Pride

by Hexcraft



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Other, Prince Arthur, Sir Alfred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexcraft/pseuds/Hexcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourth son to the King and severely lacking in ambition, Prince Arthur leads a life of luxury and lazing around, plagued only by the teasing of his three older brothers. That is, until news of a dragon over the Teeth reaches them. His father and the villagers are worried, but Arthur's only reaction is interest. Why should he worry? Dragons only kidnap Princesses, after all.</p><p>Meanwhile, Alfred has just moved into the area and is immediately smitten by the blond Prince, who won't give him the time of day. But the dragon provides the perfect opportunity for him to ride in and sweep Arthur off his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeroFrequency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroFrequency/gifts).



There were so many people! And they all looked so similar! How did they ever tell each other apart? It baffled him. They none had any distinctive markings, or if they did, kept them covered. What was the point of that? He thought it would have been easier to tell them apart if they didn’t bother with clothes. Besides, why would anyone want to be clothed? Dirty, smelly, itchy fabric. It was so uncomfortable that he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

Stripping down was the obvious solution, but he knew better than to think the people would be okay with that. Even though he was pretty confident that his body was physically appealing. However, attracting a lot of attention wasn’t something he meant to do, especially on his first visit to the village. Since he’d only recently moved into the area, familiarizing himself with the settlements near his new home was not optional. It was required, so there he was, in horrid, uncomfortable clothes, wandering through a village he had yet to hear the name of.

People he didn’t know made their slow way along the streets, and he followed a few into a large market where they wandered from stall to stall to see what was being sold. He was insanely curious and didn’t hesitate to peer around others to see, as well. Food, trinkets, jewelry, cloth, medicines and tonics, house wares, everything. It was all so fascinating, and he itched to buy it all, but he had no money, and nothing to sell. Next time he visited, he would bring a purse, and gold. Enough to buy whatever he wanted.

For now, though, he forced himself to be content with just looking, and it was as he was passing a stall selling polished mirrors that he caught sight of his reflection. He didn’t realize who it was a first, but he quickly became enthralled with himself. Yes, he was very handsome, as far as people went, which was no surprise. He’d always been strong and taken good care of himself. Still, this was unusual. Ashen blond hair was parted back from his face, and there was a small piece that stuck up and curled back—looking at it made him chuckle. And his eyes. They didn’t look like anyone else’s eyes, not that he’d ever seen. A familiar blue practically glowed in his irises, and his pupils…hm. They weren’t quite round. He was going to have to work on that.

All-in-all, though, he’d turned out rather well. He made a good man.

“Make way!” a voice suddenly shouted over the chatter of the marketplace, drawing his attention from himself. “Make way for the Princes!”

Heads turned and people immediately began to move as a group of six horses and several foot guards in expensive-looking livery and armor approached. He didn’t pay much attention to the guards, but he was very interested in the riders, if they were indeed Princes. The first and last were simple guards, carrying banners decorated with wyverns.

He had to crinkle his nose. Wyverns? Sly, clever tricksters. Cowards. Why would anyone want to carry them on their banners and shields? It made no sense to him, but his attention was soon redirected to the other three riders. Perfect posture as they rode, confident, aloof expressions, expensive tunics and robes, hands heavy with rings, and a crown upon each head. These were the Princes of the Kingdom.

The first three, all redheads, rode side-by-side, the oldest two both about twenty years, and the younger only a couple behind, eighteen or so. They had fierce, thick eyebrows and green eyes set in pale faces, and carried themselves with all the pride a Prince should have.

Standing with the villagers, he watched them ride by then turned his gaze on the fourth Prince. Creases appeared on his forehead and he tilted his head to the side as he examined the youngest of the four.

Thick eyebrows like his brothers’, and green eyes, but his hair was gold instead of fire, and he had a softer face, though that may have been due to his youth. This Prince seemed barely old enough to be considered a man, and he looked bored compared to his siblings. His robes weren’t quite as rich or as vividly colored, and he wore only one ring, as well as a simple silver circlet over his unruly locks. There were freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks.

He stared as the youngest Prince, riding a little behind his brothers, came closer then passed by—suddenly, green eyes were on him, and the blond reined in his horse. The two looked at each other for several moments, until the guards and older two Princes realized their companion had fallen behind.

“My Prince?” The guards were concerned and seemed to be considering if they should treat him as a threat or not.

The blond didn’t respond to them. “What’s your name?” he asked, lifting his chin just slightly to give a glimpse of a milky pale throat.

It took a second for him to gather his thoughts enough to answer. “Alfred, your Highness,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly, though he didn’t look away from the Prince’s face.

“You have strange eyes, Alfred.”

That put a smile on his face, though he didn’t have a chance to say anything else before the oldest Prince interrupted.

“Arthur,” his tone was lazily scolding, and it put a deadpan look into the blond’s eyes, “leave that man alone. Father is expecting us.”

Alfred bowed again, lower this time. “I hope to see you again soon, Prince Arthur.” He didn’t try to keep the suggestive edge off his tone.

Surprise flashed across the young Prince’s face, though he was quick to cover it up with a careful amount of disdain, and looked away. “Don’t hold your breath.” Then he nudged his horse forward and rode away without a backwards glance.

As the Princes and their escort moved on and eventually vanished from sight, the villagers went back to their buying and selling, and Alfred soon found that he was the only one who hadn’t moved. How could he? The only place he wanted to go was in the direction the Princes had gone. He wanted to talk to Arthur. Doing so could get him into trouble, however, so he remained where he was.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

Drawn out of his thoughts, Alfred blinked a few times then looked at the man who’d spoken to him. He was a blond, with slightly long hair and a wayward curl, and blue-violet eyes behind a pair of glasses. He looked nice, and Alfred decided he’d remember to tell him apart from all the other people he’d seen today.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Absently, he looked back after the Princes.

“Impressive, aren’t they,” the stranger commented, following Alfred’s gaze. “They pass through most days, but I’ve never seen Prince Arthur stop to talk to someone before.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Alfred’s face. “Interesting.” His companion looked at him for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Alfred smiled at him. “Never better.” Another glance after the Princes left him with a sense of determination. “Say, where did you buy your glasses? I’m Alfred, by the way.”

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, the other man’s eyebrows quirked. “The glass-mason’s shop.”

“Thank you,” Alfred paused, still looking at the blond.

“…Matthew,” he supplied, then smiled shyly.

“Matthew. Would you show me where the glass-mason lives?” Glasses would be an interesting thing to try, at least until he got his eyes sorted out. Besides, as handsome as he knew he was considered to be, he wanted to see what he could do to manipulate his appearance.

“Of course. One moment, please.” Matthew turned and vanished into the crowd milling about the marketplace, leaving Alfred to wait for him. A few minutes passed, then the blond reappeared, a sack over one shoulder and a rope in his hand, leading back to…

“I didn’t know there were bears in this area.”

Matthew smiled and rubbed the bear’s head affectionately. “There aren’t, but I’m not from here, either. Kuma and I are from the North.”

Well, he’d found an interesting human to befriend. Good. He didn’t want boring companions.

Together, the two men and the bear began to weave through the other villagers until they’d made it out of the marketplace. Only when they were free of the crowd and would easily be able to hear each other did Alfred decide to strike up a conversation.

“Where in the North are you from?” he asked, curious because he’d spent quite some time in the colder regions of the world, but he’d never seen a bear as white as Matthew’s Kuma.

“The Far Ice,” Matthew responded with a small smile. “Where half the year is night, and half of it is day. There are many bears there, white to blend in with the snow, and fierce hunters. Most Far Ice men keep dogs, but I have Kuma. I was a boy when my father killed his mother while hunting, and gave him to me as a cub, to keep and raise. He’s my best friend.” The blond’s smile widened slightly and he set a hand on the bear’s shoulder, lightly gripping the white fur.

Alfred couldn’t have been more fascinated by the story. “Why did you come here?”

“Keeping Kuma safe from hunters is easier when people see him as a valued pet rather than a threat or game.”

He’d travelled all this way just to protect his bear? He seemed a perfect example of how dedicated humans could be, and Alfred didn’t try to hide that he was impressed. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“We’re lucky to have each other.”

The two looked in time for their eyes to meet, and smiled, continuing on their way to the glass-mason’s as Kuma followed along.

X

Boring, boring, boring. Really, he couldn’t stand any of this state’s business and whatnot. It was a job for his father and his advisors, not him, a Prince with better things to do with his time. He could be practicing his archery, or studying the scrolls in the library, or out for a ride. Anything would be better than sitting here listening to dusty old men discuss dusty old problems about feuding villagers and crop taxes. None of it mattered to him in the slightest, yet there he was, sitting beside his brothers while the King and his council droned on and on.

They were required to come to these meetings, to learn what responsibilities they would have to shoulder one day, as Princes and when Seamus took the throne from their father. Arthur honestly didn’t understand why he was forced to be there. He was the fourth son. He would never have enough power to have these responsibilities.

Fourth son of the King, fourth heir to the throne, fourth Prince of the Kingdom who would amount to nothing but a Duke or Lord with some pitiful spit of land on the Northern shore because his brothers would never give him more than that. All he had to look forward to was an arranged marriage to some woman he had yet to meet and being more or less excommunicated by the three redheads sitting to his left.

Idiots, all of them.

Well, he said so, but he knew they weren’t. Seamus was brilliant, and a fierce warrior, as was Allistor. Dylan was quieter than the older two, but still an excellent swordsman. They each had proven themselves on the field and in the courts held by their father. It was a lot to live up to, and Arthur had no intention of doing so. Not for him, no thank you.

Sighing, Arthur leaned against the armrest of his chair and propped his chin in his hand, looking exceptionally bored. This was going to last for at least another hour, and in that time he could have read at least another book, or taken a bath, perhaps both. Yes, a nice, long, hot bath, with candles, and scented soaps from the kingdoms to the east, and he’d have the servants bring in one of those polished brass tables that hung on the side of the tub, so he could have some wine and a book, perhaps a biscuit while he soaked so that his skin would be softer than silk.

 _Lovely,_ the blond thought dreamily, a vague smile lifting the corners of his mouth. That was exactly what he was going to do once they were dismissed.

“Arthur,” a low whisper interrupted his thoughts, and an elbow nudged into his side, “pay attention.”

Annoyed now, Arthur shot a dirty look at his brother but did as he was told, sitting up straighter and directing his gaze at his father. King Raolin was an intimidating man, with broad shoulders, strong features, and thick, fiery red hair that fell to his shoulders. It was easy to see where the three older Princes got their looks from, though they still kept their hair short and wouldn’t allow it to grow out until they’d taken wives. He’d gotten his looks from his mother, though he had his father’s eyes. That was just about all he would inherit from him.

“We’ve had troubling reports from farms near the Teeth, Sire,” one of the advisor’s was speaking and so had all of the King’s attention. “There are rumors in the market that a dragon’s been spotted.”

Dragon?

That made Arthur sit up a little more in his chair and listen much more closely. A dragon, here? On their island? It was almost unheard of.

King Raolin was just as interested as his youngest son. “Where?”

“Flying over the southern tail of the mountain range. Most of the information is mere gossip, but the more dependable sources claim it’s relatively small, for a dragon, and nearly invisible against the sky thanks to its blue hide.”

“It must be young,” the King mused, sitting back in his throne and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Has it attacked anyone?”

“No, Sire, not that we know of,” another advisor answered him, and Raolin nodded.

“Good. Keep me informed should you hear anything more. A dragon is troubling news, though it may only be passing through, as we should hope for.”

Respectfully, each advisor ducked their heads and bowed. “Yes, Sire.”

Once they’d all straightened again, King Raolin stood. “That’s enough for today.” Sweeping his robes along, he turned and made for a door in the side wall as the advisors began to gather up their scrolls and books, all the papers they’d used during their meeting with the King. Arthur was on his feet before the door had even closed behind his father.

Time for his bath, and he knew just what sort of book he wanted to read while he soaked. If a dragon had been sighted over the Teeth, then he wanted to know as much about the creature as the royal library could tell him. It would probably going to take him all night to do the research, but that was all right. He rather enjoyed reading at night when no one would interrupt him.

With that single purpose in mind, the blond left his brothers behind as he moved towards the hall’s main door, only to be called after.

“Say, Arthur, what’s your hurry?”

The blond stopped, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he breathed out a curse. What the hell did they want now? But he fixed a neutral expression in place before he turned, and spoke politely. “I’m in need of a bath, and I’d like to do some reading about dragons. Those rumors have me curious.”

Flanked by Allistor and Dylan, Seamus came closer to his youngest brother, an irritating grin pulling at his mouth. “Always the scholar, aren’t we.”

“You’d do better to go practice your swordsmanship,” Allistor commented, shoulders held crookedly and his head tilted off to one side. “You’ll need it, if that dragon decides to head this way.”

Dylan chuckled suddenly, gaining the attention of the other three, then smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, I was just thinking, with all these baths you’re always taking, Arthur, that the dragon might smell you and mistake you for a princess. It’d be a shame if he kidnapped you.”

That had Arthur’s cheeks reddening, and he fought back a glare. “I’d rather that than smell like a horse.”

“Yes, we know,” Allistor was on the verge of laughing, “but if you’re not careful, princes from other kingdoms will ask Father for your hand in marriage before he can find you a bride!” All three of the redheads burst into laughter, and Arthur knew his face was flaming with embarrassment and anger.

Between laughs and gasps for air, Seamus managed to look at the blond. “Who was that you were talking to in the market today?” he asked, an arm on Allistor’s shoulder for support. “I hope it wasn’t some poor peasant you’ve convinced to share your bed. No one deserves that punishment!” Another round of laughter had them doubling over, and Arthur sneered as best he could.

“At least there would be someone warming my bed,” he hissed, and they took a moment to catch their breath while they waited to hear what he had to say. “You lot couldn’t get a starving barmaid to spread her legs for you, not with all the gold in the treasury.”

“Oh, she’d spread her legs, all right, for no gold at all.” Wiping at his eye, Seamus put on a smirk he was gaining a reputation for amongst the servants. “My worry, little brother, is that you’re probably spreading yours.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, anything, to refute that, but nothing came to mind. So he snapped his teeth together, glared, and, turning on his heel, stalked off, his spine straight and shoulders stiff as his grinning brothers watched him leave. It wasn’t until he was sure he was out of their sight that he let himself relax, and then his shoulders sagged, and he slouched more than any Prince ever should as he stood in an out-of-the way corner where he wouldn’t be noticed. Dealing with them was always so tiring, and now he wanted that bath more than ever. Soaking in hot water was the perfect way to rid himself of this sort of tension, and he didn’t care that his brothers thought he smelled like a girl. There was nothing wrong with being clean.

But the jokes about who he slept with always got to him, even though he’d never….it wasn’t like he’d said anything…

Under his breath, the blond Prince cursed them and himself. This was pointless. He really shouldn’t let them get under his skin so easily. He should be used to it by now, and he was, mostly, just not when it came to them digging at what they thought he did behind closed doors. And it wasn’t that he’d ever slept with a man; he’d never bedded or been bedded by a man, though there were a few maids working in the castle that he’d seduced just to prove to his brothers that he could. He hadn’t liked it, but that still wasn’t enough of a reason for them to accuse him of spreading his legs for a stranger in the marketplace.

Even thinking about it made him feel sick.

_No, don’t let them do this to you. Ignore them. They’re idiots and nothing more._

In an attempt to shake off his shame and embarrassment, Arthur took a breath and regained his posture, then stepped back into the light of the hall and continued on his way to his rooms. Who cared what his brothers thought, anyway? Not him, and he would prove it. He was going to take the most luxurious bath of his life, and he’d smell like a field of wildflowers if he wanted to, and then they’d see how much their opinions mattered to him.


	2. Chapter 2

This was one of the best rooms in the entire castle—the loyal library. It was huge, with floor-to-ceiling shelves separated by tall windows. Sunlight streamed in, weak and filled with floating bits of dust, lending an ethereal feel to the otherwise still, silent room.

For now, Arthur paced around the shelves on his own. He would call for Geoff, his childhood playmate and now near-constant companion, later. They’d gotten along well enough as boys, but now they didn’t have much in common. Still, Arthur was fond of him, and often had to remind himself that Geoff was a servant because he was so used to thinking of him as an equal.

He would eventually send for his old friend, who would then bring a few younger servants, and they would be the ones to carry whatever books Arthur chose back to his rooms. Finding those books was something he preferred to do on his own. It was a hunt more than anything, as books were occasionally added to the library without anything being rearranged—there was very little by way of organization amongst these dusty old shelves. So Arthur paced slowly, green eyes scanning for names he could recognize from the dragon lore he’d grown up hearing about.

_Count Jofre and the Slaying of Vibria_ caught his eye, and he paused long enough to reach up, hook his finger over the binding, and pull the book free of its fellows. Its cover was dyed leather, a faded red that was fitting for the story he knew he would find there.

Arthur took a moment to set the book on a nearby table before continuing his search. By the time he’d collected five more stories, his stomach was growling at him, and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth for want of a drink. Trusting that no one would come and disturb the books he’d set out so far, the blond abandoned the library and made his way through the castle. His parents and brothers were likely in the dining hall, enjoying their dinner, and he probably should join them.

Probably.

Except he would much rather eat in peace, without the taunting of his brothers to disrupt his appetite. In order for that to happen, he forwent the dining hall—it was always so crowded and noisy—in favor of journeying into the belly of the castle. The lower he went, the more servants he encountered, and he knew he wouldn’t meet anyone else. These rooms and halls were the servants’ quarters, store rooms, and the kitchens, and below those, the dungeons. Arthur hadn’t wandered that far since he was a small boy, since he’d managed to escape the clutches of his nurse and gone adventuring down into the bowels of the castle.

All he remembered was that it was dark and cold, and that it smelled. Something had frightened him, sent him running until he was hopelessly lost. He didn’t know how long he’d spent huddled in some dirty corner, but his child’s mind was sure it had been ages. Eventually, one of the dungeon guards had found him and carried him back up, to a panicked nurse and frantic parents. He’d needed a bath, and hadn’t slept well for weeks. In the years since, he’d flatly refused to visit the dungeons for any reason. Merely passing the stairs down to them made him shudder in horror and disgust. It was just unfortunate that he had to come this way to get to the kitchens.

Why anyone thought it would be a good idea to store food near that disgusting place was beyond him.

But Arthur put thoughts of the dungeon out of his head at the soonest possible moment. He was hungry and he had no intentions of letting a few bad memories spoil his appetite. Besides, the closer he got to the kitchens, the more he noticed the smells. Roasting meat, fresh bread, wine being mixed…heavenly.

When he was just down the hall from the kitchens, he had to put his back to the wall and shuffle along to keep out of the way of the servants. Several lifts were set into the opposite wall, all in use to save time taking the food up to the dining hall. Floors above, another team of servants worked to empty the lifts and deliver the food to the tables while more was sent up.

Slipping past those working down here was a matter of spilled food, wasted time, and potential wrath from the nobility upstairs. Arthur wasn’t about to disrupt the organized chaos he was witnessing and so carefully navigated his way past the lifts and into the kitchens themselves.

He’d passed along the wall to an out-of-the-way corner before anyone noticed him.

“Prince Arthur!” the shouting of his name caused a half-second pause in the bustle before everyone went back to work, except for the man who had spoken. Short and sturdy, he had dark hair pulled back in a neat braid and a close-trimmed beard, and his hands worked incessantly at a lump of dough on the table before him. “You should be upstairs with the King and your brothers!” Despite the words coming out of his mouth, the man’s tone was far from serious. When he and Arthur looked at each other, there was more than a little understanding between them.

Rolling his eyes even as he smiled, the blond Prince settled at a small wooden table in his claimed corner. It was the same place he usually chose when he wanted to eat in peace, so the kitchen staff tended to leave it vacant for him.

“Haila, prepare a plate for our Prince. He looks famished.”

Arthur’s stomach rumbled in agreement.

Moments later, a plain but pretty girl in a maid’s smock carried a plate and goblet towards him, and smiled as she set them down. “My Prince.” She curtsied respectfully, casting a lingering glance at him before returning to her duties.

Arthur offered a polite nod then turned his focus on his food. It was nothing fancy, not at all like what his family was eating upstairs, but that didn’t matter. He was hungry, and food was food. So a small loaf of bread, seasoned ham, and block of cheese were good enough for him. That, and a goblet of wine to wash it all down. Besides, this food was far from plain. It was all freshly made and more than enough to satisfy his appetite, though he didn’t stop himself from eating a little more than he needed, even if it did mean his stomach would be mildly uncomfortable for an hour or so. It didn’t take him long, however, and when he was finished, the kitchen was still in a frenzy to get everything up to the feast taking place in the castle’s upper levels.

Silent and keeping out of the servants’ way, Arthur carried his empty plate and goblet over to where the other dirtied dishes were stacked to be taken out and washed. No one called out to him as he left, but he was used to that. They were all busy at work, and he had a library to get back to, so he was quick in making his way back up through the castle.

Thankfully, the books he’d chosen hadn’t been touched during his absence, and Arthur returned to his search with renewed vigor. If that dragon ever showed its face around here, he wanted to know everything he possibly could about it.

x 

Lazily, Arthur trailed his fingers through the water, stirring the bubbles and enjoying the warmth that surrounded him. Baths really were one of his favorite pastimes—it was too bad his brothers had never taken a liking to them. Sometimes they smelled worse than their horses.

He never had that problem. He bathed daily, sometimes twice if he’d been denied access to a proper washroom the day before. That only happened on hunting trips and long travel, and Arthur didn’t particularly like hunting, anyway.

This, though, he always thoroughly enjoyed. Hot water, scented soaps, dozens of candles spaced around the walls, and of course, his personal handful of servants. Today, he had the extra delight of a pile of books and scrolls to read, one of which was propped up on a little silver stand, held clear of the water on a brass tray. One of Arthur’s servants was tasked with turning the pages for him so he wouldn’t wet the paper. Besides, his hands were busy—a different servant was cleaning and trimming his nails while he soaked, one hand at a time. So he could still play with the bubbles while he read.

The books he’d found were fascinating, old tomes with dried out, cracked leather covers and yellowed pages—he discreetly enjoyed the smell of them—dry and dusty on their shelves in his father’s library. Until he’d come along and found them. It had taken him all afternoon to collect enough of them to satisfy his curiosity, but he’d done it. The stack he had now would keep him busy for a day at least, maybe two. Then he would see to it that someone organized that library so his next search through the shelves wouldn’t take so long. Really, he would have thought the royal library to be better tended, though he did vaguely enjoy wandering among the shelves.

“Turn,” the blond commanded, and his servant carefully flipped the book’s page. He pulled his hand from the boy’s grasp and examined his nails—clean and neatly trimmed. Without a word, Arthur lifted his other hand and began reading as the boy hurried around the tub to work on the Prince’s nails while he read.

In this particular story, the dragon was a great fire-breather, and guarded a cursed treasure that killed any man who tried to take even a single golden coin. That seemed to be a common theme among the stories, that dragons hoarded treasure, and he had heard of it growing up, as well. If the dragon near the Teeth decided to stay, it wouldn’t be long before the beast started attacking castles and towns in search of gold for its lair. Hopefully, it wouldn’t stay.

When his hand was released, Arthur checked the quality of his nails then sank farther into the tub. One of his feet was lifted from the water so his toenails could be taken care of next.

If he hadn’t been so used to this treatment, it would have been a distraction.

‘Turn.”

This time, the dragon came from the river and demanded a beautiful young virgin to be sacrificed to it each month, and charmed each one to their deaths by singing and luring them into the water to drown.

Well, there were definitely some mixed opinions in these books. Some of the stories labeled dragons as bloodthirsty monsters. Others described them as scholars, lovers of music and art, or defenders of some great prize.

Arthur wasn’t sure how a great scaly beast would enjoy art, much less find the opportunity to see any. What did they do, delicately rip apart castles and steal the art to decorate their lairs? It sounded ridiculous. Trying to imagine what that would look like was nearly impossible, though that was probably because Arthur had never seen a real dragon before. They didn’t visit this area very often, and didn’t usually stay for long. None of the princes had ever seen one, but their father had, and based on the stories he’d told, the villagers near the Teeth were right to be worried.

But, soaking in his luxurious bath, Arthur could only be curious.

With all these books he’d picked out, he was going to have to make notes to keep his findings organized. That could wait until after his bath, though.

“My Prince,” the servantboy was hesitant to interrupt the blond’s reading, “if you wish, we are ready to cleanse you.”

Arthur finished the block of text he’d been reading then nodded, and the tray was removed to keep the book safely out of the way of the water. Carefully, the Prince stood and stretched, then held still as his few personal attendants began the task of washing him. One’s sole duty was his hair, and Arthur didn’t try to hide his enjoyment at that. She was the same maid who always tended to his golden locks, so she easily kept the soap away from his face and eyes, and rubbed his scalp with practiced skill.

Sometimes, when he had a headache, Arthur would send for her, and have her rub his scalp and finger-comb his hair until the pain had eased. This was easily the best part of bathing, and he let himself relax nearly to the point of falling. Really, being scrubbed from head-to-toe was the best feeling in the world.

When the maid’s hands left his hair, Arthur let out a slightly disappointed sigh and opened his eyes. His bath was over.

The process of rinsing off was a matter of two of the servants lifting large pails of water and pouring them over his head. It didn’t take long, and soon he was out of the tub. Toes curling into the thick rug on his washroom floor, Arthur was patient as he was toweled off, and remained where he was as a large bottle of oil was fetched from the cabinet.

Careful not to waste a drop, the oil was poured onto soft strips of cloth then rubbed into Arthur’s skin. Starting at his neck, they worked their way down until nearly every inch of his pale skin shone. The treatment would leave his skin feeling soft as silk and as flawless as a man could get.

Next came his clothing, which, at this time of night, was nothing but a robe to keep him from catching a chill before he went to sleep. Otherwise, he stepped into a pair of thick stockings to protect his feet from the stone floors. His footsteps were nearly silent as Arthur, accompanied by his servants, went from the washroom to his bedroom.

“Prince Arthur,” the oldest servant asked, “should I send for Haila?”

“No,” the blond replied, his attention on the stack of books on his bedside table. The girl in question, Haila, was a maid at the castle, the same one who’d served him his dinner, and also one of the girls he’d seduced in order to prove himself to his brothers. Occasionally, he would call for her and sleep with her, to keep them from making too many comments about him. Tonight, he had no interest in sex, which truthfully wasn’t much different from other nights. This time, he just had something else to focus on.

“Very well. Do you require anything else?”

“No, you are dismissed.”

Quietly, the servants bowed then left the blond Prince alone in his chambers. There would be someone posted outside his door should he need anything, but for the rest of the night, and no one would bother him save for in an emergency.

Now he could fully dedicate himself to the study of dragons.

With a few candles to provide enough light to read by, Arthur climbed onto his bed and settled beneath the covers. The book he’d been reading during his bath sat on top of the stack, carefully marked so he wouldn’t lose his place. Once he was comfortable, he picked up the book and rested it in his lap, then opened it to its proper page. Where had he stopped?

Ah, yes, the tale of Siegfried. A dwarf’s plot to steal back his gold, a giant-turned-dragon—so bathing in dragon blood made one invincible? Interesting.

Arthur decided that was something to remember so he could write it down later.

Hours passed and the candles burned lower and lower as the Prince read through the books he’d collected the stories varied wildly, and he knew he would have to read them all again and take close notes if he wanted to pick out any patterns or repeating details. That would be a task for the morning, however, as his candles were almost used up, and his eyes were starting to ache for sleep.

Sighing wearily, the Prince set the most recent book aside then leaned and blew out the candles. Darkness immediately surrounded him, quiet and peaceful, and he shimmied farther under his blankets. The softness of his pillow felt like heaven—the instant he closed his eyes, Arthur was sound asleep, his mind dredging up half-formed dreams of dragons and virgins and knights.


	3. Chapter 3

Bright morning sunlight invaded his room as heavy curtains were thrown wide, and Arthur’s face scrunched up in pain. Muttering, the blond Prince rolled in his bed and yanked the blankets up over his ear to cover most of his face. With his back to the window, the discomfort in his eyes quickly faded, and it was mere seconds before he was on the verge of sinking back into a deep sleep.

“No more time to sleep today, Highness,” a familiar voice encroached on Arthur’s mind and he reluctantly started to wake. “I’d wager that stack of books’ll keep you busy after breakfast.”

Sighing heavily, the Prince sat up in his bed and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes to clear them. It was a little cold now that the blankets had fallen away from his torso, but he could hear Geoff stoking the fire and knew he’d be plenty warm once he was dressed.

“Did you Highness sleep well?”

Arthur looked at his old friend with tired eyes, and Geoff smiled just slightly. In his plain but neat uniform and carefully tied-back chestnut hair, he always somehow managed to look more impressive than one would expect a servant to do. Maybe it was the confidence in how he held his shoulders, or the ease with which he moved and spoke, even when dealing with royalty. Most servants were so nervous around the royal family, bowing and scraping and stumbling all over themselves to please the King, Queen, and Princes. But Geoff had never had that problem, and it had made him an ideal companion for a young Prince. There was no one else in the castle who could wake Arthur without being cursed at or dismissed immediately, and both of them knew it. Arthur’s fondness for the brunet all but guaranteed that he would never be without a job, and the longer the two looked at each other, the wider Geoff’s smile became.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The formality of his speech and bearing faded, until Geoff stood there as a friend rather than a servant, something Arthur much preferred. “What kept you up?”

Rubbing his eyes again, Arthur waved his hand at the stack of books and scrolls piled beside his bed. “Dragons.”

Interest lit the other man’s hazel eyes and he crossed the room with easy steps. Arthur watched him from his place in bed, his weight leaned back on his hands, as Geoff picked up the top book from the stack.

“Ah, _The Gypsy and the Dragon_. One of my favorites.”

Arthur nodded; he remembered hearing the story as a boy and acting it out with Geoff. They’d always taken turns being the dragon and the gypsy, and had come up with the most outrageous embellishments to the tale that sometimes it was hard to know where the game had even come from.

Gently, the other man paged through the story, a soft smile on his face, and Arthur felt affection warming his chest. He smiled before he caught himself and forced the feeling away. They weren’t boys anymore. Geoff had been his childhood friend and companion, and was a loyal and capable servant. Any affection past that was unacceptable.

_This is why they taunt you._

That may or may not have been true—Arthur wasn’t sure if his brothers suspected he felt anything but friendly towards Geoff. They’d never named the man specifically, but if Arthur had to pick the original source of their teasing, he’d have to say it was the man standing only a few feet away. As different as they were, the two had been unusually close growing up, and while Arthur had no desire to be sexual with Geoff, there was no denying he felt closer to him than to any of his brothers. But, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly hard for Arthur to like someone better than he liked his brothers.

“Well,” without having noticed the slight struggle his Prince had just experienced, Geoff gently returned the book to its resting place atop the stack and turned to Arthur, “what would your Highness like to wear today?” The formality was back but playful this time, teasing in a way that was entirely different from how Seamus, Allistor, and Dylan teased, and earned Geoff a weak scowl from the blond.

“Surprise me.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Bowing so deeply it could not possibly have been taken seriously, the brunet backed away from the bed and gracefully turned, straightening as he did so.

With the curtains open, enough sunlight came into Arthur’s bedchamber that he could see the space beyond the doorway Geoff had just passed through, into the next section of his rooms where his wardrobe was stored. He watched his friend and servant peruse the many shirts, tunics, leggings, trousers, and cloaks.

“I won’t be going out today,” he called, to help narrow down the selection Geoff would choose from. “Pick something comfortable.”

“Not a waistcoat, then.”

“Preferably not.”

“Very well.”

Moments later, Geoff emerged back into the bedchamber with a few articles of clothing draped over his arm, and set them out neatly on the bed as Arthur slipped out from under the blankets. Unperturbed by his nakedness, he stretched and sighed, popped a few joints, then turned to the other man expectantly. As they did every morning, the blond lifted his arms above his head so Geoff could dress him in his undershirt, then stepped into the offered trousers. The shirt was tucked in, and then over that a tunic with only a small amount of decoration at the throat and wrists. It was a deep blue, made even more vivid against the white of the trousers Geoff had chosen, and nicely accented by the golden thread in the detailing.

“I’m always impressed by your sense of fashion, old friend,” Arthur teased lightly, straightening his cuffs as the brunet fetched a pair of plain black boots. Rather than comb his hair as he probably should, he settled for carding his fingers through it to give a slightly less rumpled appearance.

“You flatter me, Highness.” It would have been difficult to pour any more sarcasm into Geoff’s tone as he fitted Arthur’s feet into the boots and laced them snugly.

While it was true Arthur looked very nice in blue, it wasn’t an expensive color, and if not for the gold detailing, the tunic would never have found its way into his wardrobe. Red, black, and purple were much more expensive dyes, and more befitting a Prince, but Arthur had never been particularly fond of wearing black or purple, and he generally found red too flashy for everyday use. Besides, he thought blue to be entirely suitable for a Prince to wear. Why should the cost of the dye have anything to do with how well-dressed one looked?

Finished with the bootlaces, Geoff rose to his full height and smiled down at his Prince. They were less than a year apart in age, but Geoff had the good fortune of being nearly half a head taller than Arthur, something he didn’t mind reminding the blond about. “If your Highness is ready, I believe breakfast is being served.”

Already displeased with the thought of eating with his brothers, Arthur grimaced but nodded, and left his chambers with Geoff half a step behind him. One of the younger students would make the bed and tidy up the room while he was gone, and then Arthur would have peace and quiet to reread the stories he’d gathered. He was going to have to send for parchment, ink, and a quill so he could take proper notes. But that could wait until after breakfast—studying on an empty stomach was never very fruitful.

X

The weight of gold hanging around his neck lent an extra air of confidence to Alfred’s stride. As he’d decided during his last visit, he’d brought a purse with enough money to buy anything he wanted from the village marketplace. Most of the people he’d met and seen tended to wear their purses at their belts, but Alfred’s was hung around his neck by a long piece of twine and tucked under his shirt, low enough to not create a noticeable bump in the fabric, where it was out of the reach of thieves and pickpockets. There were few things in the world that disgusted him more than thieves, and he had absolutely no intentions of being robbed.

So he had money, but he wasn’t letting himself buy anything just yet. First, he had to meet Matthew, and he only spent about a quarter of an hour meandering through the marketplace before he spotted the friendly blond. As usual, Kuma was at his side, though today the bear wore a thick leather collar around his neck instead of the simple rope as before. Alfred wondered if Matthew had bought if for him recently or just saved it for special occasions.

Striding towards the unusual pair, Alfred grinned and waved. “Good morning, friend!” he greeted enthusiastically, his hand out, and Matthew shook it once.

“Good morning.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

“Of course.” Matthew’s hand dropped back and almost instinctively found a resting place on Kuma’s head. “It’s not a very big town, but a stranger could still get lost. I don’t mind helping you until you learn your way around.”

“And I appreciate your kindness. I will repay you.” He was smiling, but Alfred was dead serious. It was a show of terrible manners to let a favor go unreturned, and Alfred was very proud of his manners.

Although he looked slightly taken aback by the blue-eyed blond’s intensity, Matthew smiled and bowed his head. “Thank you very much.”

Grin still firmly in place, Alfred found he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands and quickly decided to lace his fingers behind his head to keep them out of the way. “Do you have time to go to the glass-mason’s shop now, or would you like me to wait?”

“We can go now. Kuma and I decided to close our shop for the day.”

That was another act of kindness that Alfred would be sure to repay. “What sort of shop do you run?”

Both blonds turned and left the marketplace, going the same direction as the previous day. It was earlier, so fewer people were out and about, and they made quicker progress.

“Growing up on the ice, there were very few things a boy could do to entertain himself.” There was a nostalgic smile on Matthew’s lips, his gaze on the laid brick of the village streets, and the sight made Alfred grin. “My mother taught me to carve trinkets and jewelry out of the bits of shell our people would collect, and out of the bones, tusks, and teeth of the seals and bears the hunters brought back for us to eat. Here, I use deer antler instead of tusk, and wood more than sea shell, but carving is carving.”

“You must have good business, being so near the castle. The royal family probably commissions plenty of jewelry.”

“Yes, but I prefer to carve talismans, and toys for the children of the village. Nobles are too…well, they have excellent manners, but they’re not the politest people you’ll ever meet.”

“Hm.” Alfred lowered his chin slightly, smiling at his memory of his encounter with Prince Arthur the day before. “I know what you mean.”

Casting a sidelong glance at the other man, Matthew kept his expression smooth. “Have you dealt with many nobles before?”

“Oh, yes, plenty. I’m very familiar with the way nobles think and behave.” He said it as if he were enjoying some private joke, because he was, but his companion didn’t press. “However, I’ve never encountered anyone quite like Prince Arthur.”

“I’m not sure anyone has. He’s a very unusual Prince.”

“Are his brothers like him?” They’d discussed the village and the Princes yesterday, but only briefly, just long enough for Alfred to learn that this settlement was called Colchester, and the King lived in his castle just up the road. Colchester and its farmers were responsible for most of the goods and services the royal family required, and in return enjoyed a status as a prosperous trading town. It wasn’t very large yet, but it was growing and would likely be a city in a few years.

“No, not at all.” Absently, Matthew ran his fingers through Kuma’s fur and scratched behind the bear’s ear as they walked. “Prince Seamus is very typical of a first-born son of a King. He’s a talented swordsman, and looks to be a promising King one day. Allistor is much the same—the two are very close in age, and have much in common. Dyllan is younger, but just as well-trained and studied as his older brothers. But Prince Arthur,” the pale blond paused, seeming to search for the right words, “lacks the ambition of his siblings.”

Rather than respond to that, Alfred considered it carefully. A fourth son to a King could easily marry into the royal family in another land, find a Princess in need of a husband and become King that way. Even with three siblings before him in line for the throne, there was no reason to give up hope entirely. There had to be more to it than a simple lack of ambition. Perhaps he’d arrange to see the golden-headed Prince again, and next time, he would find out everything he wished to know about young Arthur.

X

“Nnng…” Fingers laced, Arthur stretched his arms above his head and arched his stomach, muscles tensing and flexing. His back popped once, twice, before he let out a sigh and lowered his hands into his lap, shoulders sagging. He’d been at the writing desk in his sitting room for hours, refusing to let anything distract him, not even food—Geoff had the foresight to assign a younger servant to him for the day, to fetch food and drink, parchment and ink and quills, anything that Arthur might require. And for all his hard work, he’d compiled an impressive stack of notes on the dragon lore he’d been studying.

Well, that, and a terrible ache in his spine as well as in his head. He hadn’t spent this long studying a single subject in years. It was worth it, though, he was sure. If that dragon decided to leave the Teeth and come this way, he was going to be ready for it. Hopefully.

_I’ve earned a break by now._

There was little to argue otherwise. He’d reread all the stories he’d collected and written down every clue he could find about how dragons behaved. All he had left to do was take the individual stories and compare them, create lists of similarities and contrasts between them all to see which occurred most often. First, though, he needed to take care of this headache, or he’d never get that done.

Arthur opened his mouth to call for the boy Geoff had sent, then paused. What was that servant boy’s name? It was something simple and common, but nice enough, he supposed. Did it start with a d? No, no, a p. Patrick? Peter? Peter! That was it!

Straightening in his chair, the blond Prince carefully set his books and parchment aside to clear a space on the desk. “Peter, come here!”

Immediately, a small boy appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Yes, your Highness?” He wore a simple blue hat over his blond hair, almost the same shade as his eyes, and matching blue leggings with a white shirt neatly tucked in at the waist. Black shoes covered his feet. It wasn’t the uniform most castle servants wore, but this boy had started younger than usual and so was too small for the uniform. Until he grew a little, he would dress the way he was now. It was a more cheerful look than the other servants had—perhaps when he had his own land to manage, Arthur would dress his servants in blue.

“Find my washmaid and send her to attend to me.”

“Right away, your Highness.” Peter bowed again before scurrying out of the room, and Arthur almost smiled. The boy almost definitely had no idea who his washmaid was—her name was Brigitte, or something along those lines—but the blond Prince had the feeling that Peter would search every corner of the castle and ask every senior servant he encountered who exactly he was supposed to be finding. It could be a while before she arrived, however, so he might as well start on his next set of notes.

Letting out a heavy breath, Arthur selected four fresh lengths of parchment and arranged them neatly side-by-side, then dipped his quill. At the top of each, in neat script, he wrote _Blue_ , _Red_ , _Green_ , and _Gold_. They were the four most common colors in the stories, though some dragons were said to have such dark scales that they appeared black—generally, he’d found that these were also said to have a red hue to them, so he meant to include those on his second bit of parchment. There was no reason to use a fifth sheet if he didn’t need to.

That done, he set his quill aside and picked up the stack of notes he’d finished only minutes ago. He rifled through them, setting each down on its proper color label until they’d all been sorted by what color scales the dragon of the story was said to have. There were far fewer green and gold than blue and red, which Arthur wondered at, but he supposed the reason would be easy to see once he’d finished.

Still waiting on his washmaiden to come and relieve his headache, the blond Prince pushed the red, green, and gold stacks aside in order to focus on the blue. It was the largest pile, and since the dragon spotted over the Teeth was supposedly blue, it seemed like a logical place to start. So, he picked his quill out of the inkwell, settled as comfortably as he could, and began writing down everything the legends of blue dragons had in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, for the love of whatever gods you do or do not believe in, do not comment just to say "gypsy is a slur you should change it." I'm not going to change it. The story Arthur and Geoff are talking about is literally titled "The Gypsy and the Dragon." It's in a dragon lore book I own, and you can read it for yourself here: http://www.dragnix.net/Legends/the_gypsy_and_the_dragon.html
> 
> Even if the word "gypsy" is a slur, then removing it or changing it would deteriorate the historical and cultural accuracy of the story itself and of my use of it. Now, ask yourself, "would a Prince and his childhood friend be aware that 'gypsy' is a slur? Would they bother to use a different word?" No, probably not. Besides, the legend doesn't use "gyspy" as an insult, and neither do I.
> 
> It may also be helpful to state that I myself am of _gypsy_ descent. I don't know which particular kind I am, as that part of my heritage was kept secret from even my own family because when my ancestors came to America, they didn't want to be discriminated against. All I know is that some part of me, however small, is _gypsy._ It's the only word I can use for that piece of my heritage, and telling me I can't use it is more insulting than the word itself might seem to you.
> 
> Otherwise, feel free to message me and leave comments. I'd love to know what you think about anything and everything else about the story.


	4. Chapter 4

The _clop clop clop_ of hooves against beaten dirt was soothing to the temper Arthur was currently only somewhat managing to keep in check. His research had been going so well, he was sure he was on the brink of discovery. If he was given enough time, he just knew he’d uncover something useful about the dragon seen near the Teeth. But, instead of sitting at his writing desk, the young Prince was astride his horse and following his three older brothers down the road with their accompanying guards. They’d summoned him nearly an hour ago and demanded he go with them to the training grounds nearby. As much as he’d wanted to refuse, Arthur had known better than to try. They would only spread rumors about him in his absence; it was best to go along and save his reputation, if not his pride.

So he went, silent and withdrawn, and kept in line behind Dylan and Allistor.

At a stately pace, the four Princes rode along until they came to a fork in the path. Seamus, back straight and chin up, neatly turned his horse right, and the guards followed suit along with Allistor, Dylan, and Arthur.

He didn’t particularly mind always being last when they rode together, mostly because he didn’t mind riding at all, but there was no denying that Arthur got bored rather quickly. It wasn’t exactly entertaining to stare at the backs of his brothers’ heads, after all, and they would be riding for the better part of an hour. Unless, of course, they decided to pick up the pace a little.

Arthur mulled that idea over in his head for a few moments before making up his mind. If he was going to be dragged along, he was at least going to enjoy himself.

Ever so slightly, the blond pulled back on his reins. His horse slowed a half-step, and, little by little, he began to fall behind. It took the guards a solid meter to realize that their youngest charge was no longer keeping up, and by then it was too late. Arthur didn’t miss the way two of them—the pair that rode just ahead of him—glanced at each other. They knew what was coming, and knew there was nothing they could do to stop it. Seeing the worried looks on their faces was enough to make the blond want to grin. He kept himself in check, though, expression neutral if not aloof. Letting his emotions show generally didn’t turn out very well, especially where his brothers were concerned.

The guard behind him was becoming frustrated. Slowing his own horse meant that the rear guard had to slow as well just to keep in place, and Arthur could very nearly feel the man’s tension. He wanted to object to this, most likely, but was holding his tongue rather than earn the wrath of the Prince. There were some perks to being royalty, after all.

Another few paces put Arthur a safe distance behind his brothers and the majority of their escort. The stretch of rode looked inviting to the point he almost didn’t mind that they’d dragged him away from his research.

Almost.

This, at least, would be some consolation.

Stretched out before him and disappearing around the edge of the forest, the road beckoned him.

_Run,_ it echoed in his thoughts, had him shifting his grip on the reins and leaning forward ever so slightly in his saddle.

Willow champed at her bit nervously, ears turned back to catch any sound her master might make.

_Not yet._

He had to let his brothers get just a little farther ahead. It wouldn’t work if he didn’t have enough room. Willow was a shy creature and wouldn’t easily leave her fellows behind unless Arthur distracted her.

Just a few more steps.

_There._

Arthur shifted his grip on the reins, using both hands now, and leaned back in the saddle, settling his weight deep in the curve of the leather. Her ears still back, the mare easily caught the soft clicks of Arthur’s tongue as his heels nudged at her sides. Reluctant as she was, she moved into a canter, and then a gallop with a second, more insistent, nudge.

Hooves thundering and her mane very nearly whipping against Arthur’s face, she flew past Allistor and Dylan then Seamus and the forward guards, carrying a madly grinning blond away from the group as the rear guards, frantic, tried to keep up.

With the wind blowing his hair back from his face, Arthur tossed his head and sighed. The sound was carried away before he even had the chance to hear it, but that didn’t matter. The whole point was that he’d left his brothers behind, and the guards weren’t really good enough to catch him. Right now, as he and Willow claimed the road as their own, he didn’t answer to anyone. Not his father or his brothers or anyone. No one was in charge of him because no one could catch him.

He was free.

Dirt clods and dust clouds followed him all the way around the forest, kicked up by Willow’s hooves as she ran. The thought of her left-behind stablemates didn’t seem to bother her anymore—Arthur didn’t have to encourage her to keep going at all.

They both enjoyed the opportunity to stretch her legs.

Arthur could feel her sides heaving under the saddle as she breathed, easily matched the rocking motion of her gate with his own body, knees adjusting to every movement to keep his shoulders and head still as he rode. There weren’t many things the blond Prince was proud of, but his skills in the saddle were one of them. Riding Willow was as natural as breathing.

All too soon, the pair began to see men in the fields beside the road, marching in groups under the lead of a single horseman with a bugle. The short, sharp bursts of sound directed the men on foot, telling them to stop, turn, march, turn, stop, and on it went. Arthur barely spared them a glance. They were new recruits for his father’s army, and he wasn’t interested in them. All they meant was that he was near the training compound, and, unfortunately, his run would be over soon.

The sudden burst of horns made Willow snort and toss her head—they’d been spotted, and word of his arrival had been sent ahead. Now the compound would be ready for him and his brothers.

Rounding the last outcropping of trees, Arthur’s rather fierce grin was quick to fade as the training compound appeared before him. It was a considerably large structure, with a low wooden wall broken up by tall watchtowers, and a gate facing the road. Uniformed men stood at the gates and paced the wall, keeping watch. They, more than anything, were what made Arthur slow down.

There weren’t usually that many guards posted.

_What’s going on?_

As Arthur drew closer to the compound, slowing Willow to a more reasonable pace, a figure ran through the gate and stopped in the road, waving energetically.

“My Prince!”

The blond composed himself, using one hand to finger-comb his hair back into some semblance of order and straighten his circlet, then nodded politely to the man who’d addressed him. “Captain Argos.”

“My Prince, it is good to see you again.”

“Why are so many men posted?”

“It’s better left to discuss once your brothers arrive.”

“Very well.”

Captain Argos walked alongside Arthur’s horse as the pair entered the compound, and stood at Willow’s head while Arthur dismounted. It would be another quarter of an hour before the other Princes and their slow-moving guards reached the compound, so Arthur wasted no time. Rather than letting one of the stable boys take Willow’s reins, he led her over to the water trough and let her drink for just a moment—too much after running would make her sick—then continued over to the stables. The soldiers’ horses, at least, those who weren’t currently out running drills, stuck their heads and necks out of their stalls to get a better look at the approaching visitors.

Welcoming nickers echoed towards them and Willow’s ears pricked forward; her pace increased a little in her eagerness to be with other horses. Arthur was tempted to release his hold on the reins and let her run over to the stables to greet her friends, but he resisted. She may have been the horse of a Prince, but that didn’t mean she was allowed to wander as she pleased. Letting her go would get them both in trouble, so Arthur, as boring as it was, walked her all the way to the stables and turned her into a vacant stall.

A boy in a squire’s garb appeared almost as soon as Arthur followed her into the small space and bowed low. “Squire Jeremiah at your service, my Prince.”

His attempt at formality, as good as it was, put the ghost of a smile on Arthur’s face.

“I require a brush for my horse.”

“Right away, my Prince.” Squire Jeremiah scurried off to the tack room at the back of the stables to fetch what Arthur needed, leaving the blond alone with Willow.

He could have gotten the brush himself, but squires were such eager little fellows that dismissing one right off would be almost cruel. It was better to let Jeremiah follow him around to complete simple tasks for him. Besides, it gave him a chance to relax while he waited for the boy to return.

Quiet, Arthur wrapped his arms around Willow’s neck and leaned against her, smiling when he felt her lean into him in return. The smells of hay and horses were warm and welcoming, let him feel safe and comfortable in a way he never was anywhere else.

Approaching footsteps were what made him pull away from the mare and straighten his clothes, brushing small white and gray hairs from his tunic. He turned just in time to see Jeremiah appear outside the stall, the boy’s thin arms straining with the weight of a heavy bucket full of grooming tools.

Arthur indulged the squire with a smile as he took the bucket. “Thank you.”

The surprised pride that flashed across Jeremiah’s face before he bowed was deeply amusing. “Of course, my Prince.”

“I could use a drink.” It was a suggestion more than anything, just something for Jeremiah to do to keep him busy while Arthur tended to Willow.

Nevertheless, Jeremiah immediately bowed again, backing away at the same time. “Of course, my Prince.” Then he was gone, and Arthur decided that bowing so often was a waste of time. He was going to have to work it out of Jeremiah’s system.

“Really, all this bowing and scraping is ridiculous.”

Willow didn’t seem to have any interest in what he was saying, so Arthur set the bucket down where she wouldn’t knock it over then set about unsaddling her.

Expertly, his fingers worked the buckles and straps until they hung free from Willow’s body. It was a matter of pulling the saddle then catching it as it slid off her back, which was easier said than done, but Arthur refused to sag under the weight of it. He heaved, throwing it over the low wooden wall where it would stay until it was time to return to the castle. When it was balanced, the blond slid the saddle blanket off Willow’s back, revealing dark patches of sweat, and draped it over the stall wall, as well.

Moving close to the mare, Arthur stroked her neck affectionately. “There, that’s better, now,” he murmured, smiling softly as her ears flicked toward him. She was patient while he chose a brush from what Jeremiah had brought, and far more interested in being groomed than in listening to anything he had to say about the boy.

Brushing the sweat and dust from Willow’s mottled grey coat was a slow process that Prince and mare both enjoyed. By the time Arthur was finished, Willow’s eyes were closed and she might as well have been dozing for all the notice she gave when her master traded the brush for a comb and started on her mane. With gentle strokes and careful tugs, the blond freed the knots and laid the white strands neatly against Willow’s neck. He tended to her forelock next, smiling when he noticed large brown eyes watching him as best they could.

Softly, Arthur cupped Willow’s chin and kissed her whiskery muzzle with more affection than he’d ever shown another human. “What a beautiful mare you are,” he crooned, fingers stroking down the side of her neck. Willow bumped her nose against his then lipped at his face, making the blond Prince laugh softly. “I love you, too.”

It was unfortunate that he couldn’t just stay there with her while his brothers trained outside. They’d come find him before long, or rather, they’d send someone to fetch him. Arthur knew the chances of them coming into the stables themselves were slim to none.

_Pompous bastards._

Still, he didn’t want to be fetched like a child, so he dropped the comb back into the bucket, patted Willow’s side in farewell, and left the stall. He’d just dropped the latch when shuffling footsteps came up behind him, and Arthur turned to find Jeremiah struggling to carry a large pail of water and, balancing precariously, a tray with a simple chalice on top of it, towards him.

Oh, he’d asked for water.

“Thank you.” Arthur took the tray and cup. “Is that for Willow?”

Red-faced and breathless, Jeremiah nodded, unable to speak. Arthur opened the stall and stood to the side as the squire shuffled his booted feet across the hay-strewn floor and into the stall. The boy heaved, grunting at the effort of lifting the pail high enough to empty it into the water trough.

Arthur hid his amusement when Jeremiah lowered the pail and turned. “Thank you. Come along.”

They left the stables together, Arthur’s bow and quiver resting against his back and Jeremiah, now free of the burden of the water, followed dutifully.

“Arthur, there you are!” Seamus waved at him from where he stood with Allistor and Dylan, surrounded by stable boys and squires who would do their bidding for the duration of their visit.

Green eyes rolling, the blond didn’t change course, ignoring his brothers in favor of the archery range. A few soldiers were already there practicing, but there were plenty of available targets to practice at. Arthur chose the one at the far end, shooing Jeremiah back behind the fence where he was out of harm’s way.

Easily, he pulled the limber wood of his bow free and braced one end on the ground, fishing the oiled string from the pouch on his belt and easily looping it into the notches of his bow. The wind ruffled his hair as Arthur took his stance, feet braced and shoulders back. He chose an arrow from his quiver and knocked it to his bow, dominant hand pulling the string back, the wood of the arrow caught between his index and middle fingers. Feathers brushed against his cheek as his arm drew back farther; he sighted the target, one eye squinting to give him better aim.

Arthur’s chest expanded as he breathed in. Everything going on around him was perfectly clear—Jeremiah watching eagerly from the fence, his brothers’ voices as they spoke to Captain Argos, the clanking of armor and swords, the sharp twang and whistle of bows firing arrows—he breathed out, the world went silent, and his fingers let his arrow fly.

The whistle lasted barely two seconds before the short _thunk_ of the arrow burrowing into the center of the target cut it off. 

Silence echoed across the grounds; Arthur could feel countless pairs of eyes on him as he lowered his bow.

“Nice shot, Arthur,” Allistor called, voice echoing, “but perhaps you should be practicing in the sword rink rather than the archery range. We all know your swing could use some improvement.”

“Some?” Seamus’ questioning tone had the other two red-headed Princes chuckling at their youngest brother’s expense.

“Let him be, Seamus.” Allistor’s scolding tone was exaggerated. “Our little brother is suited to the bow. A sword would be too manly for him.”

Eyes narrowed, Arthur knocked a second arrow to his bow, aimed, then twisted his torso and fired, lodging his arrow into the center of the neighboring target. A third arrow soon found its mark in the next target and was quickly followed by several more. Within minutes, Arthur’s white-feathered arrows claimed a row of the straw-filled targets, including one that a young soldier had been practicing on at the end of the line.

The silence that followed the whistles and thuds was anxious. They were all waiting, wondering if their Prince would fire another, and where the next one would go.

Slowly, the bow was lowered, and Arthur spoke without turning. “Do you want to know why I never miss?” His voice drifted across the grounds, quiet and curious to mask his anger. “Because I imagine that every arrow rips your miserable tongues from your wretched mouths.” The blond spun, swiftly lifting his bow and knocking an arrow. He fired; his brothers didn’t have time to flinch before the missile had passed between the gilded heads of Seamus and Allistor and buried itself in the wood of the fence behind them.

Tension filled the air as the brothers stared at each other, thick and heavy. Everyone knew that Arthur only missed when he wanted to, and that his older brothers wouldn’t take the threat lightly.

All eyes moved to Seamus when he stepped towards Arthur, his eyes dark and angry. “If you want your chance to prove us wrong, brother, then draw your sword. We’ll see who keeps their tongue.”

The challenge sat between them, Arthur’s bow still raised, and Seamus’ hand on the hilt of his sword. With a bow, Arthur was unmatched, but swords were another matter entirely.

“Fine.” Arthur lowered his bow and began walking towards his brothers. The weapon was thrust into Jeremiah’s fumbling hands, quickly followed by the quiver. “State the rules.”

“Swords only.” It was Dylan who spoke first, moving forward and past his brothers before Seamus had a chance. A look was exchanged by the three red-headed Princes, Dylan silently asking permission, and Seamus gave a small nod, handing the duel over to him.

It made Arthur nervous—Dylan would only have interfered if he were genuinely worried about his younger brother’s wellbeing. Seamus had meant to cause him harm.

_Bastard. I could have shot him and I missed instead._

Yes, he’d threatened the Crown Prince, but that didn’t give Seamus the right to harm him. Only their father could decide what was to be done about his challenge. A duel against Dylan would be much more favorable.

Turning his gaze to the blond, Dylan smiled calmly. “Until surrender.”

“Agreed. Jeremiah,” Arthur didn’t have to look to know the squire was standing dutifully behind him, “fetch my sword.”

“Yes, my Prince.” His arms still full with Arthur’s bow and quiver, the boy bowed low then hurried off towards the stables, where Arthur had left his sword with his saddle and other belongings.

While the blond kept his attention fixed on his three brothers, Seamus’ gaze followed Jeremiah; a smirk slowly took over his features.

“What an eager boy,” the oldest Prince commented off-handedly. “It’s a shame he’s attached himself to our Princess.”

The muscle stood out in Arthur’s jaw as he ground his teeth, hands curling into fists. Of course the bastard couldn’t go a full day without insulting Arthur’s masculinity. It was the Crown Prince’s favorite joke, after all, and Arthur loathed him for it.

“He won’t get far that way.”

“I hope, for his sake, there’s a knight around here who can take charge of him.”

“Someone will have to repair the damage Arthur’s done to him.”

“Yes, before our dear Princess convinces the poor boy to do something vile.”

Rage boiled up in Arthur like a lightning storm, threatening to spill over and strike anyone who got in his way. Seamus and Allistor were lucky Jeremiah had taken his bow to the stables, or he’d have been sorely tempted to lodge a few arrows in their chests. How dare they accuse him of touching Jeremiah? A _boy?_ It was bad enough they called him “Princess,” but to think he would actually….it was despicable…

“Look, he’s turning red.”

Seamus and Allistor chuckled at the blond’s flushing cheeks. He could have murdered them.

“Arthur,” Dylan caught his attention, now without his cloak and circlet and in the process of pulling on thick leather gloves, “Jeremiah can bring your sword to the ring.”

Ugh, the stupid duel. There was no use—Arthur would lose, as always. Which was the exact purpose the older Princes had in challenging him.

Slowly, Arthur relaxed his jaw and hands, shoulders straightening, and nodded to Dylan. At least one of his brothers had enough brains to mostly keep out of such childish antics. But that didn’t mean Arthur wasn’t going to use the duel as a chance to let some of his anger out.

The two brothers moved towards the open grounds used for sword practice, not too close to each other and avoiding eye contact. Dylan wouldn’t be as vicious as Allistor or Seamus, but he was still a formidable swordsman. Defeating him wasn’t what Arthur planned—he just didn’t want to be beaten too quickly.

All he had to do was remember his footwork. Yes, footwork and stances, all the forms and moves he’d been taught as he was growing up. That was all he had to do. Focus.

His back to his brother-turned-opponent, Arthur took a few deep breaths and turned towards the stables. The sight of Jeremiah coming towards him wasn’t exactly welcome, especially since the boy was struggling to carry Arthur’s sword, scabbard and gloves. Seamus was sure to comment on it, likely in regards to Arthur forcing the squire to take on more work than he was capable of handling. He could hear it now, scornful jokes regarding his sword and the boy—just the thought made Arthur clench his jaw all over again.

“Here, Jeremiah, thank you,” he called, hoping to cut off any chance his older brother would have at attacking him again. In response, Jeremiah hurried his pace and nearly tripped for his efforts, though he recovered and held his burden out to the blond Prince with obvious pride in himself.

“Your sword, my Prince.”

“Thank you.” Forcing calm, Arthur took his sword from the boy and belted it around his waist before pulling his gloves snugly over his fingers to protect them during the duel. There were no other sounds, which meant Dylan was ready to begin and waiting for him, and the soldiers that had been training before had stopped in order to watch the duel.

_An audience. Perfect._

He didn’t want witnesses for this, but there was little he could do about all the men watching. Any argument he made about them would be seen as childish and would provide yet another opportunity for Seamus or Allistor or Dylan to taunt him. That would be even worse than having an audience for his duel.

“Prince Arthur?” Jeremiah was looking up at him with clear concern. “Is anything wrong?”

“I’m fine.” His short tone made the boy draw back slightly, adding guilt to everything else Arthur was feeling at the moment. In an attempt to at least fix that, he forced a smile and lightly touched Jeremiah’s shoulder. “I’m all right, thank you. Now, get behind the fence, where you’ll be out of harm’s way.”

Jeremiah nodded and hurried to do as he’d been told after returning the Prince’s smile. Well, at least there was one person in this kingdom he was princely enough for, even if it was a simple squire boy. But Jeremiah’s encouraging grin from the other side of the wooden fence helped him in some small way, so Arthur’s shoulders were straight as he turned and faced his older brother.

With a flourish, Dylan drew his sword and smiled in a way that was slightly less arrogant than how Seamus or Allistor would have done, but it was still arrogant by Arthur’s standards. “Are you ready, little brother?”

_Ugh._

“Yes.”

“Then draw your sword, and let us begin.”

His stance widening and brow furrowing just slightly, the blond pulled his sword from its scabbard and nodded at his brother. He waited until Dylan shifted his feet before moving, only following the older Prince’s lead for now. It would be unwise to make the first move or try to rush things the way he would have done when he was a bit younger.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as Dylan slid his right foot farther from his left, back tensing slightly, and adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword.

_Wait…wait…there._

He saw it when Dylan’s weight shifted onto the balls of his feet in order for him to leap forward, but that didn’t mean Arthur managed to pull his sword in towards his chest to block the attack with any sort of time to spare. As always, he reacted at the last possible second, then shoved hard with his blade to force Dylan back again, already breathing heavier than he had been a few seconds ago. The redhead began circling him, forcing Arthur to shift his feet and shift them again in order to keep his gaze on his opponent. He lunged again and the younger Prince sidestepped, only to lose his footing in a clumsy attempt to defend against a swift jab at his ribs. Dylan took advantage of his brother’s stumble, striking again and again to drive Arthur backwards towards the fence.

“Your feet, Arthur, watch your footing,” Dylan warned just in time to swipe at his brother’s ankles. It was a playful attack at best, forcing the blond even farther off balance until he fell back and slammed into the fence.

“Ah!” The wood dug into his spine, bruising him, and Arthur winced as he gripped one of the planks in an effort to right himself. “Damn it…”

“Language, Arthur,” the older Prince scolded lightly. He wouldn’t attack while the blond was still down, but he was ready to begin again the moment Arthur was back on his feet.

For his own sake, Arthur didn’t get up right away, only shifting enough to ease the pain in his back. The duel had been going for less than a quarter of an hour and he was already losing badly. If this went on for much longer, he would be too bruised to comfortably ride Willow back to the castle.

_Have to think fast. Think of something._

There wasn’t much he could do from here—Dylan had the upper hand in the best of circumstances, and these were far from. Still, he refused to surrender so soon.

“On your feet.” Dylan was growing impatient, and gripped Arthur’s arm to pull him upright before the blond had a chance to reply. “Don’t stall.”

Arthur growled and shook off his brother’s hold, taking his stance once more. His back ached where the fence had struck it, but he ignored the discomfort as best as he could. Once again, the two Princes began circling each other, and this time it was Arthur’s turn to take the offensive.

Dredging up all of his anger at his brothers’ comments over the past few days, the blond gripped his sword with both hands and lunged, stretching one foot out far in front of the other, back knee nearly touching the ground, and thrust his sword directly at Dylan’s abdomen with all the strength he could muster.

Nonchalant, Dylan stepped to the side, watching Arthur’s blade pass harmlessly by, then knocked it away with his own. “Too rash.”

Another strike, this time a broad swing as Arthur brought his back foot forward and spun towards his brother.

“Predictable.”

The comments did nothing but make Arthur even angrier, and his attacks became less and less controlled as the duel went on. As vicious as the blond Prince was in his movements, he barely managed to lay a blow on his opponent. More often than not, Dylan dodged and countered, nearly knocking the sword from Arthur’s hands on several occasions. Finally, when Arthur was red in the face and breathing hard, his golden hair darkened with sweat, Dylan dropped his defense.

Stepping forward, he batted Arthur’s sword away and grabbed the front of his brother’s tunic, yanking him forward and off-balance again. Noses so close they nearly brushed, the brothers stared at each other, Dylan smiling and Arthur glaring.“You’ve improved, little brother, but you’ve got a long way to go.”

Arthur was silent as Dylan pushed him back again, lifting his sword in preparation. That calm smile unnerved him, betrayed any plan the red-headed Prince was forming, but Arthur knew he was plotting his next few moves to end the duel. It was always over quickly after his brother grew bored of defending himself.

Without warning this time, too quickly for Arthur to track and counter, Dylan lunged, scraping his sword along the side of his brother’s, twisted his wrist and flicked his arm to rip the weapon from Arthur’s hand and send it flying several feet before it hit the ground.

Now disarmed, Arthur stiffened in preparation for another attack, but Dylan merely straightened and held his sword level, the tip of the blade at his younger brother’s throat. “Submit.”

For a moment, the blond Prince considered refusing. If he dove, he might be able to grab his sword and scramble to his feet before Dylan could stop him, but that was a slim chance, and he would rather not be covered in dirt for the ride back to the castle.

“….very well,” he gave in grudgingly, lowering his gaze in defeat. “I submit.”

Dylan smiled and lowered his sword. “Keep practicing.” Turning, the red-headed Prince sheathed his sword and walked away from his younger brother, leaving the training grounds and returning to Seamus and Allistor. Arthur watched his oldest two brothers congratulate the third on his victory for a moment before going to pick up his fallen sword. He wasn’t at all surprised by how the duel had turned out, though he was disappointed that Dylan could still defeat him so easily. It was embarrassing to have so many witnesses to his being toyed with, but at least no one of real importance had seen.

A heavy sigh left the youngest Prince as he sheathed his sword and left the training grounds to give the soldiers room to practice. He was going to take a very long bath when he got home.

“Prince Arthur.”

The voice drew Arthur up short, stopping him in his tracks on his way towards the stable. Why did that voice sound familiar? Turning, the blond found the unwelcome sight of the blond stranger he’d seen in town, the one with odd blue eyes, though today he was wearing glasses.

“What do you want?” he asked, tone rougher than he intended with leftover aggression from the duel, though he didn’t particularly mind taking that out on a peasant.

A smile appeared on the stranger’s face, confident and relaxed despite the Prince’s obvious anger. “I wanted to compliment my Prince on his skills with a bow. You are a formidable marksman.”

Clearly surprised by the compliment, Arthur felt his face warming and nearly smiled. “Oh, thank you.” His mind grasped for the stranger’s name—he’d said it, hadn’t he? What was it?

“You’re also talented with a blade. I was surprised to see you defeated.”

So, this impudent stranger had seen as well, hm? What business did he even have at the soldiers’ encampment? Was he here to join the ranks? Then why was he loitering around watching Arthur embarrass himself? And then he had the gall to comment on his loss as if anyone had expected a different outcome? The nerve!

“Yes, so was I.” Sarcasm was layered thick over Arthur’s words. “Almost as surprised as I am to see you again.”

The stranger’s grin widened slightly. “I had hoped to see my Prince again soon.”

“Then your hope was one-sided.” Arthur lifted his chin as he turned his back on the bespectacled blond, striding away towards the stables once more. It was all he needed, for some strange peasant to assume such familiarity with him. Who did that man think he was, addressing a Prince so informally?

“Arthur, is that the same man you spoke with in town yesterday?” Allistor’s question put a falter in the blond Prince’s step. “I hope you didn’t invite him along here hoping to impress him. You must have known he would only be disappointed in you.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Seamus scolded his younger brother, “he’s just a poor Princess in love with a handsome stranger, after all.”

Temper flaring, Arthur hunched his shoulders and continued towards the stables at a brisk pace, finding them empty save for himself and the horses. He saddled Willow as quickly as he could, barely bothering to make sure he wasn’t being too rough with the mare, then mounted and rode back out into the sunlight. If his brothers expected him to stay while they insulted him, then they would have to settle for being wrong. Arthur could handle the taunting about his poor swordsmanship and he could ignore the comments about little Jeremiah, but he would _not_ stand there and listen to them fabricate lies about who the stranger was and what relationship Arthur had with him!

The blue-eyed bastard was still where Arthur had left him, leaning on the fence and looking at the blond Prince with just the slightest smile. Well, if he thought he had any right to speak to a Prince the way he had, then Arthur would set him straight.

His expression icy, Arthur rode close to the stranger and looked down at him to find a grin on that strong-featured face. “What did you say your name was?”

“Alfred, my Prince.”

“Mm. Well, Alfred, as charming as it’s been to speak with you, I’d advise you to find a companion more fitting to your social rank. It’s unseemly to try to reach too high, you understand.”

The surprise and confusion quickly followed by hurt pride in those blue eyes gave the Prince a rather malevolent sense of satisfaction, and he rode away from Alfred without another word. He waited until he’d reached the gate of the training compound before nudging Willow into a gallop, leaving his brothers, the soldiers, and Alfred behind in a cloud of kicked-up dust. Despite the small victory against the stranger, anger still burned at his insides, and the Prince soon turned his steed from the main road, heading down a small winding path into the trees instead. Better to find a place to be alone before he returned to the castle and was forced to share space with his brothers again.


	5. Chapter 5

The rush of wind and the thunder of Willow’s hooves helped to drown out the turmoil of Arthur’s thoughts. He didn’t want to think right now, didn’t want to hear or feel or see anything. If he could’ve dissolved into the wind pulling at his hair and clothes, he would have.

Why had he said that?

_Idiot._

First, he’d let his brothers get to him, then he’d taken it out on that poor man. He was despicable, he was no better than those red-headed bastards.

His anger at himself only built as Arthur rode Willow farther and farther into the trees. They were good and lost now, moving too fast for the Prince to even attempt to recognize their surroundings.

Good. The longer it took them to get back to the castle, the better. He wasn’t ready to see his brothers just yet. He would never be ready. And he doubted they much wanted to see him—why should they? They had never gotten along, not in recent memory, and after his behavior towards that man he was likely to be tormented by them for days. “A lovers’ spat” they’d call it, ask what the poor man had done to earn Arthur’s wrath. Had he refused Arthur’s advances? Was he not to the man’s liking?

Their voices were as loud in his head as if they stood in front of him and spoke.

Frustration and anger drove him to nudge his ankles into Willow’s flanks with more force than the mare appreciated. She balked, front hooves digging into the earth and her back arching up beneath the saddle, head so low her snout nearly brushed against the ground. Caught off-guard, Arthur didn’t have time to settle himself against the leather or hold onto anything—with a shout, he fell forward over his horse’s neck and hit the ground, the impact knocking the air from him. Bushes and leafy plants gave way beneath his weight, snapping and catching at his clothes. The blond rolled to a stop a few feet away from the horse, gasping and wheezing against his emptied lungs.

“Willow!” With tears of pain in his eyes and now covered in dirt, grass, and bruises, the battered, breathless Prince sat up to glare at his disgruntled mare. She stared back at him, clearly unhappy, then snorted and looked away, ignoring his muttered curses.

Scowling and threatening something along the lines of selling the animal to a meat market under his breath, Arthur rolled to his knees then pushed himself to his feet. His clothes were filthy, torn and stained by the fall.

“Perfect. Bloody _fucking_ perfect.”

Arthur dusted himself off a bit, scraped palms bleeding and stinging in protest, then looked around in the hopes that he might recognize something. Unfamiliar forest surrounded him, dark and uninviting. The trees were too tall to see anything over them, and the trail he and Willow had been following was too narrow to see all that far down. They’d have to take it back to the main road if they were going to find their way home.

Ugh.

Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, the Prince ran his hands through his hair, pushing his golden bangs back from his face and dislodging a couple of leaves.

Great. Now what?

His arms fell to his sides as a breath left him, and he carefully stepped out of the brush and back onto the trail. The path they’d been following was little more than a slightly-wider-than-average spacing between the trees, an unused game trail being reclaimed by the forest. It was unlikely that anyone would notice it in order to follow him, so he could expect some privacy, at least for now.

He wasn’t ready to go back to the road, nor did he have any intention of running into his brothers should he return home. Continuing deeper into the forest wouldn’t be a wise choice—it would inevitably lead to trouble, whether that mean getting lost or running into some dangerous beast. So if he wasn’t ready to go back the way he’d come and he couldn’t risk continuing further, then he supposed he should stay where he was. It was the only reasonable option, really.

Well, if he was going to stay, he may as well find some place to sit and finish catching his breath.

Arthur left Willow to her own devices as he explored the forest’s underbrush, only sparing a glance to the space his body had created among the thin branches and stems when he’d fallen. He wasn’t exactly interested in sitting there, considering the still-forming bruises he’d just received.

Willow just had to pick this spot to throw him. Nowhere comfortable to sit, no recognizable landmarks, nothing but trees and bushes and mud.

“Lovely spot, Willow.” The Prince began stepping on a patch of grass at the base of a nearby tree, flattening it to give himself a place to sit. “Just lovely.”

She didn’t appear to notice or care for his false praise.

Once he’d flattened enough of the grass, Arthur lowered himself to the ground and folded his legs, leaning back against the tree’s trunk. It was quiet for a while, peaceful and calm. Most of his anger had been converted into adrenaline when he was thrown from the saddle, and now Arthur merely sat and listened.

Wind rustled the tops of the trees, too high to feel down here on the ground. Willow’s teeth worked at the plants she was grazing on a few feet away. Somewhere, up in the trees, a few birds began to sing again, no longer alarmed by the blond’s presence. The forest didn’t care that he’d taken up residence in its shade.

Sighing quietly, Arthur let his head fall back against the tree and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly through his nose, enjoying the fresh, earthy smells. It was much nicer than the air in the castle’s village, untainted by sewage and farm animals and the general stink of unwashed men. Sitting here was just as peaceful as the hours he spent in his father’s library, perhaps even better, as he was less likely to be disturbed. He could sit quietly for as long as he wished; no one would come looking for him here.

“Lovely spot, Willow.”

The mare’s only response was to flick her ears towards her master, then continue eating.

Yes, he could expect peace and quiet so long as he was here. An unused game trail wasn’t a likely place for anyone to search for him, if anyone came searching at all. The way he’d left the army’s training grounds had made it obvious that he wanted to be left alone, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if the young Prince wasn’t seen for several hours. His brothers weren’t likely to so much as ask about him when they returned to the castle before him.

No one would miss him.

Far more relaxed than he’d expected to be, Arthur let the thoughts of his brothers and the castle drift away. He didn’t think about anything, merely listened to Willow’s snuffling and chewing, the wind, and the birds. Slowly, the Prince’s chin dipped towards his chest, and he slept.

A cold breeze found its way through the trees, shifting Arthur’s golden hair and chilling the slumbering Prince. He shivered, pulling his arms in tighter around his body, but not waking. Not until a second, stronger wind pulled at his clothes did the blond try to roll over and away from the cold, only to shift too far away from the tree he’d been sleeping against and fall onto his side. Still, he woke up slowly, stiff and groggy, blinking as he tried to understand his surroundings.

Dark. Quiet. Grass. Tree?

He was still in the forest. When had the sun gone down? How long had he been asleep?

Shivering again, the Prince rubbed at his arms to try to warm them as he stumbled to his feet. He peered through the darkness until he found the large, dark shape of Willow nearby, apparently watching him. The Prince clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he moved towards her, reaching for the reins hanging from her bridle.

“Come on, girl,” he murmured, clumsily gripping the leather of the saddle and hauling himself up onto the mare’s back, “time to go home.”

Willow turned and began to walk back the way they’d come without any urging from her chilled master, head bobbing in time to her steps. With the reins looped around the saddle horn to keep them from becoming entangled in the mare’s legs, Arthur tucked his fingers into his armpits in an attempt to warm them faster. There was no telling how long it would take them to reach the edge of the forest, but he knew it wouldn’t be that much farther to the castle once they were back on the main road. He just needed to get there before he caught his death from the cold.

His teeth began to chatter and Arthur forced himself to pick up the reins, shoulders hunched up to his ears to protect his neck from the wind. Clucking, he nudged Willow into a trot and then a gallop, hoping they wouldn’t lose their way in the dark. Staying outside at night was dangerous at the best of times, but Arthur was alone and had no provisions or protection against the elements, beasts, or whoever else might be out in the dark. His weapons would do little good against what he couldn’t see.

_Please let the road be near._

The quickened pace set Arthur to shivering violently, his clothing doing little to keep the cold from his body. His teeth were knocking together so loudly that Willow’s ears had twisted back towards him to catch the sound, and he was doing a poor job of holding onto the reins properly. Frustrated, the Prince flexed his fingers in an attempt at warming them up enough to feel the reins. Why had he slept so long? How could he have let this happen? He was going to freeze!

Eventually, a soft glow became visible some distance ahead, promising that the edge of the forest was near. Relief and hope had Arthur urging Willow to run faster, until the pair burst from the trees and the sound of the mare’s hooves on the hard-packed dirt of the road replaced the soft thudding of the forest floor. She slowed, more of her own will than of her rider’s, and turned to begin the familiar journey back to the castle. They were both relieved to be out of the darkness of the trees—it was considerably lighter out in the open, the top of the sun still visible on the horizon.

Now that he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the village and castle came into view, Arthur brought Willow to a walk and let the reins rest around the saddle horn once more. He rubbed his hands together and breathed on them, fighting the stiffness that still clung to most of his body. Shivers kept his shoulders tense and his arms held tight to his body. If he’d had any idea he would be outside at this time, he would have worn his cloak.

The Prince was too preoccupied with the warming of his fingers to notice how far the pair had travelled. By the time he looked up to check, the village was close enough that he could make out the shapes of individual houses, and the castle rose in the background like the face of a mountain, broken by the light glowing from the windows.

“Almost there, Willow,” the Prince commented happily, patting the mare’s neck before he picked up the reins once more.

With a cluck of his tongue and a gentle nudge of his heels, he eased Willow into a trot as they entered the village, head held high. Regardless of how cold, hungry, and tired he was, he would not allow the people of the kingdom to see one of their Princes looking sad and weak. His brothers would never let him live it down if they found out he’d let anyone see him as vulnerable. Their usual taunting would worsen, they would let it be common knowledge that he was poor and weak and needed a brave, strong knight to protect their dear, sweet little brother. Just the thought was enough to make Arthur tighten his grip on the reins and hold his spine straight as a spear pole, chin lifted. It didn’t matter that the streets were almost empty at this time; he couldn’t risk anyone catching him with sagging shoulders.

“Halt!” a voice shouted from the top of the castle’s outer wall, one of the guards looking down at him as another aimed a bow and arrow in the Prince’s direction. “Who goes?”

Unruffled by the threatening arrow, Arthur stopped Willow and lifted a hand in greeting. “Good evening, Captain.”

“My Prince!” The Captain turned and shouted commands down to the soldiers working the gate, and a few seconds later the portcullis began to rise. Soldiers moved forward to meet him as Arthur rode beneath the iron defenses, and a stable boy came running to take Willow.

Arthur, as usual, kept the mare’s reins in hand as he dismounted, more or less ignoring the waiting boy. It occurred to him, then, as he was surrounded by men in full armor and brandishing a variety of standard issue weapons, that this was an unusual way for a Prince to be greeted.

“Captain?” The Prince turned questioning green eyes on the Captain of the Guard, who had made his way down from atop the curtain wall.

“Apologies, my Prince, but we have to be careful. I’m afraid I’ve been ordered to take you straight inside—the boy will care for your horse.” The Captain waved the boy forward, and he reached to take Willow.

A slight frown creased his brow and Arthur tightened his grip on the reins. “I prefer to do it myself.”

Ignoring the blond, the Captain took the reins from him and passed them to the stable boy, who led Willow away after bowing. He wasn’t bothered by the insulted glare Arthur directed at him, calmly ordering the soldiers around them to escort the Prince inside. One of the men gripped the blond’s arm and Arthur jerked away, scowling derisively.

“I can walk perfectly well on my own,” he huffed, turning and heading towards the castle’s main doors, his armed guard circling him protectively. Their efforts did little but cause Arthur to roll his eyes, Really, what could possibly be so dangerous that they had to guard him even while within the castle grounds?

Clanking and marching, the group entered the castle and continued to follow Arthur until they were over halfway to the throne room. Only when the Prince waved them off in annoyance did they stop and regroup, then begin the march back out to the grounds to return to their stations.

Tired and hungry and still colder than he’d like to be, Arthur began the trek down to the kitchens to find something to eat. Food first, then a nice, hot bath.

Strangely, he met no one as he walked. The castle was nearly silent, and even down in the lower passages, fewer torches were lit than normal. These halls should have been filled with servants and kitchen staff, but there was no one. He couldn’t even hear the usual kitchen bustle.

“Hello?” Descending the last few stairs and entering the kitchen, Arthur was surprised to find the typically busy, crowded kitchen completely deserted. “Hello?” His voice echoed off the stone walls.

Nothing moved, no one answered. Where was everyone?

“Strange,” Arthur commented to himself, voice soft.

This had never happened before. Not during war, not during raids, or skirmishes, or natural disasters. The kitchen never stopped, not until dinner was cleaned up and the breakfast preparations had been made. Even then, there was usually a servant or two making a small meal for themselves. This utter emptiness was unnerving.

Something was wrong, and no one had told him.

Eyes narrowing, Arthur spun around and started back up through the layers of the castle, ignoring the hunger pains that continued to plague his stomach. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

The throne room was the most likely place to find his father, as it was the only easily accessible place in the castle that was large enough for the King to meet with his advisors and the heads of his army. If something terrible had happened while the blond Prince had been asleep in the forest, that was where he would find answers.

“Prince Arthur!”

Just as he was crossing the main hall towards the doors to the throne room, Arthur halted at the sound of his name. “Yes?” He turned, clearly impatient, to see the Captain of the Guard coming towards him.

“My Prince, you were meant to be escorted to your rooms.”

“I don’t want to be escorted anywhere, Captain.”

“I’m sorry, my Prince, but the King’s orders surpass yours.” Despite his apology, the Captain didn’t look sorry at all as he took hold of Arthur’s arm and pulled him away from the throne room.

“Release me!” the blond demanded, outraged at being touched without permission. “Let go of me at once!”

Unaffected by his shouted orders, the Captain didn’t so much as shift his grip on the younger male, and Arthur was dragged rather unceremoniously up to his rooms, where two guards waited. They opened the door just in time for the Captain to push Arthur inside, the Prince’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

“How dare you!”

The Captain ignored him in favor of addressing the two guards. “He doesn’t leave, no one goes in.”

“Don’t--!”

The door shut before he could get the rest out, and he balled his hands into fists when he heard a key twisting in the lock.

Anger and frustration at being treated so, like a mere child to be kept out of the way while his father and older brothers met with the advisors and generals in the throne room, were enough to make Arthur bellow curses at the door.

“Bastards! Imbeciles! I will _not_ tolerate this! Do you hear me? I’ll have you flogged!”

There was no response from the guards outside the door as the Prince continued his ranting, pacing the room and hurling insults at the men outside. He carried on for several minutes, each new curse more creative than the last, some even pertaining to the guards’ ancestry. Eventually, however, his vocabulary ran dry, and the Prince gave one last, wordless roar before giving up. They clearly weren’t listening to him, and there was little he could do about it for now.

His stomach growled unhappily, and Arthur scowled down at his midsection. He was hungry, yes, but after berating the guards the way he had, he wasn’t about to ask them to bring him something to eat. His pride as a Prince wouldn’t allow it.

But damn, he was hungry.

“That arse better have a good reason for this,” the blond muttered, finally wandering away from the door and towards the windows instead. They looked out over the castle grounds, seemingly deserted in the dark. Only a few small torches were lit, not enough to see much. It made him uncomfortable to have such a limited view. With the sun long gone, the world outside his rooms was mostly black, silent and ominous.

Something must be very wrong, for the castle and grounds to be so still.

Just as he was about to close the curtains to block out the night, a shout sounded from the courtyard below and Arthur scanned the shadows for the source. He couldn’t see who had made the noise, but shifting masses told him large groups of soldiers were moving about on the curtain wall and on the ground. Were they expecting an attack? Why hadn’t the braziers been lit to allow them to see their adversary?

His confusion was interrupted by a sudden, bone-rattling roar splitting the night air. Goosebumps spread over the Prince’s entire body and he felt his heart pounding in his chest as adrenaline filled his veins. With his hands over his ears and his eyes wide, he scanned the night, but saw nothing.

More shouts drew his attention downwards, to the armor or soldiers glinting in torchlight, and the pounding of running feet.

Another roar, louder and frighteningly close, forced the Prince to look up again. His eyes widened, mouth falling open in soundless horror.

_Move, move, move!_

His brain screamed at him to run, but his legs didn’t budged. Frozen, the Prince stared as a large, fast-moving shape hurtled through the sky, straight towards the castle.

“The…dragon…”

If he’d been thinking at all clearly, Arthur would have been embarrassed by the high pitch of his voice in that moment.

Nevertheless, there was no mistaking it. The dragon was on its way. That was why the castle was practically abandoned, that was why he was rushed to his room, why the guards were armed and ready. They’d known it was coming, and they hadn’t seen fit to warn him. And now the beast was heading right for the castle! Why was he in his rooms? Why wasn’t he down in the underground levels, where it would be safest? Who had thought it would be best to put him here, in a high room with large windows?

Shouts; the twang of bow strings and whistle of arrows being let loose. The dragon roared, massive body twisting in the air so the arrows missed or merely bounced harmlessly off the beast’s hard scales. Only when it righted itself to continue on its intended path did Arthur realize the creature was flying straight at him.

Panic sent the Prince stumbling backwards, tripping over his own feet so he fell to the floor. He scrambled up again and ran to the door, banging on it as hard as he could.

“Open the door!” No one answered. “Open it, I said!” There was still no response—a roar had the blond pulling at the handle, struggling desperately to overpower the lock that had been set in place.

The dragon was so close now that he could hear the force of its wings pushing at the air, like a hollow boom.

Trembling, Arthur turned his back to the door and looked to his windows, swallowing thickly. Terror seized him at the sight of the beast hovering there, just outside the glass, one large, impossibly blue eye staring in at him.

_Run!_

He couldn’t move. His body was frozen, limbs locked in place, trapped by the dragon’s piercing gaze. Ever so quietly, Arthur whimpered.

Just like that, the beast gave a mighty heave of its wings to angle itself then struck out with one forelimb, shattering the glass of the windows as Arthur dropped to his knees and covered his head with his arms. Eyes shut tight, the blond tried to pretend he was somewhere else, that this wasn’t real, it was just a nightmare, he was still asleep beneath that tree in the forest, he was—

A scream forced its way out of the Prince when something caught hold of him and began dragging him across the floor, closer to the windows. His fingers scrabbled at the stones in search of something to hold onto, but there was nothing. Within seconds, he felt himself being lifted as the dragon withdrew its arm from the hole it had made, carrying him out into the cold night air.

Holding the Prince in one claw, the dragon hung from the side of the castle, his talons leaving gouges in the stones. The shouting from below grew louder and Arthur pushed at the large, scaly fingers that encircled his body, trying vainly to free himself.

“The Prince! It has the Prince!”

Arthur opened his mouth to call for help just as the dragon spread its wings and launched itself into the night sky. The force of it stole the air from his lungs until the blond was left coughing and gasping, helpless, as he was carried higher and higher, farther from the castle he’d just been stolen from. In mere seconds, the castle and village were lost from sight, and Arthur began to pray that his death would be quick.


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn’t feel his hands. His face was numb save for the sting of cold in his cheeks and nose. Black sky surrounded him, too dark to see the ground far below, or the beast above him. Everything had dissolved into the dark and cold and the sound of massive wings beating the air.

Arthur had no idea how long they’d been airborne. Hours, perhaps. The lights of the castle were long out of sight and the stars and moon weren’t nearly bright enough to see by. Until dawn, he had no way of knowing where he was being taken.

Shivering, the Prince shoved his stiff fingers into his armpits and clamped his arms as tightly to his body as he could in an attempt to protect them from the cold. It was difficult, given the claws wrapped around his ribs and stomach, but he managed. At least the dragon gave off enough body heat that he wasn’t too terribly cold. It was just his face and his hands that were the trouble, but it was enough trouble to keep him focused on his physical state rather than dwell on what lie ahead.

Few of the legends he’d been reading spoke of dragons stealing men. It was always young women, virgins and princesses. Not princes. Why had he been taken? For a slave? Or was he to become a favorite? Would he be kept in the beast’s lair only so long as his youth lasted, until he became too old to be thought beautiful, and then eaten or set free? Or perhaps he was just a hostage to hold for ransom, traded for gold to supplement the dragon’s hoard. They weren’t dumb beasts, not according the legends, so Arthur doubted he’d been taken by chance. The dragon had stolen him for a purpose.

Apprehensive of what his future might hold, Arthur held tighter to himself and shut his eyes against the rushing wind. There was nothing he could do for now. He had no weapons save for a small dagger, and that was out of his reach, trapped against his hip by the dragon’s claws. If he was going to have any say in his fate, he would have to move quickly when they finally returned to the ground. Whenever that would be.

Time passed, the night carrying on whether or not Arthur could track it. And, despite himself, the Prince began to feel exhaustion pull at the back of his mind. It was far past the hour he would have normally retired, and regardless of his current situation, his body demanded rest. He fought it, digging his nails into his palms, but his hands were still too numb for that to make a difference. Eventually, caught in a dragon’s claw high above the ground, the blond lost and slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Just as the first pale fingers of dawn were creeping above the horizon, the dragon angled its wings and slowly began its descent. Mountains rose up to meet the pair, clear to the bright blue eyes of the beast. Massive wings spread wide to catch more air, slowing them further, and flapped powerfully as the dragon touched down to grassy earth. Careful, it checked that the Prince in its grasp was still safely asleep before moving further up the mountain, wings spread to help make up for the fact that it could only use three of its legs to walk.

It was slow progress to weave between the trees and underbrush, but the dragon dared not move faster and risk waking the Prince. Ahead, the trees began to thin, and the sky lightened enough to begin casting shadows. It climbed, scaling rock faces and clambering over boulders, not as graceful on earth as in the sky or the sea. Safely caught in the dragon’s claws, Arthur slept on as he was carried up the mountain.

Eventually, the pair emerged from the trees and the dragon paused to rest a moment, its head lifted. Bright blue eyes scanned the mountainside above, searching. Then they continued on, moving ever higher as the temperature dropped even as the sun rose. Soon snow began to appear, hiding in pockets of shade under trees and stones. The dragon’s warm breath turned to fog in the cool air and was quickly blown away.

And still they climbed, until there was nothing but snow and rock and ice in every direction, and the dragon paused again. The tree line was far below, nothing but a grayish-green hue, but that wasn’t where the beast focused its attention. Instead, it was looking towards a field of snow that lay at the bottom of a short cliff face, and it was in that direction that the two moved next.

Upon reaching the snow field, the dragon turned and began circling around the edge, never touching the snow. It came to the lowermost point of the snow and turned again, following a tiny trickle of water as it raced down the mountainside. Before long, the water disappeared into a narrow crack in the rock, and the dragon followed the crack until it came to space big enough to squeeze down into. With its wings held in tight to its body and Arthur tucked carefully against its chest, the dragon half crawled, half slithered down into the darkness, following the sounds of water.

The crevice began to gradually widen, the stone walls echoing the sounds of water dripping and the dull roar of deeper waters crashing. Soon the space was filled with drifting mist that coated the rocks until they shone in the dim light reflecting from the surface. Deeper and deeper into the mountain, the dragon followed the water, until at last the crack in the rock opened into an underground tunnel, water rushing along its floor. Holding the Prince close, the dragon dropped the remaining distance and landed on the cavern floor, careful not to jostle the sleeping human too much. And still it followed the water.

Down, down, down into the darkness so thick even the dragon’s eyes had trouble making the difference between stone and empty space. The water around its claws grew steadily deeper as more and more water gathered and ran through the tunnel, splashing around the beast’s knees as it continued on. And then the darkness ahead began to pale. Light glowed dim, reflecting off the water to create tiny dancing lights on the walls and the dragon’s scales, betraying the brilliant blue of its hide even in the darkness.

Several more minutes passed before the dragon finally poked its head out of the tunnel’s end, sniffing at the cool mountain air before emerging fully into the sunlight. The sun had yet to rise enough to shine directly into the valley the pair had just entered, but it was light enough to see the scattering of tall, thin trees at the bottom, clustered around the river that flowed from the tunnel and emptied into a small lake.

After checking that its passenger was still asleep, the dragon shook itself and continued on, leaving the cold water of the river in favor of the green grass that grew so tall it brushed the underside of the creature’s belly. In the trees, birds began to wake and sing as the sun climbed higher and the shadows were chased under the rocks and plants that cast them. They didn’t seem to notice or mind the dragon that soon passed beneath their perches, walking along the riverbank.

By the time sun had fully broken over the ridge of mountain surrounding and protecting the valley, the dragon had reached the mouth of the river and began turning in a tight circle, patting down the grass to make a nest for itself. Curling, it settled in the shade of a tree and stretched out its long neck to drink from the lake, tongue snaking out to scoop clear mountain water into its mouth. Satisfied with several large gulps, the beast pulled its head back into the shade and looked down at the still slumbering Prince nestled between its front claws.

Gentle, the dragon sniffed at the Prince’s golden hair before resting its head in the grass. It gave a long, weary sigh, then closed its eyes and began to doze in the early morning breeze.

X

Arthur did not want to wake up. He was warm and the bed was soft and he’d been having a very nice dream about water and dancing lights. It wasn’t the sort of dream he wanted to abandon just to face his loathsome brothers. So, rather than open his eyes and face a day he wasn’t at all ready for, the Prince rolled onto his side and reached for the blankets to pull them up over his head. He reached, fingers outstretched in search of the familiar fabrics, and instead found blades of grass. Instead of pillows, his cheek rested against something hard and rough but not coarse, like stone or weatherworn wood.

He was not in his bed.

_The dragon._

Cautious and deliberately still, Arthur slowly cracked one eye open and peered at his surroundings. Blue surrounded him, ridged, tightly layered scales that boasted more shades of blue than he’d ever seen. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

He hadn’t been eaten. He wasn’t even being held anymore, not that he could tell. And the dragon was….sleeping? It certainly seemed to be sleeping. Arthur couldn’t see its face from where he was, but the beast wasn’t moving, and if that quiet wind-like noise was the sound of it breathing, then it was definitely at least dozing.

Confused but still too fearful to move, Arthur racked his brain for any legends that would explain this. The only likeness was that of the favorites, but he wasn’t entirely willing to accept that. He wasn’t a virgin princess to be kept as a prize. There had to be some other reason he’d been taken and was still alive. But if the dragon was sleeping…what else could it be? If he’d been taken to be a dragon’s favorite, then he was no better than a Princess. It was sort of a compliment, he supposed, to be chosen as a favorite, a testament to his good looks or some other valuable quality, but he didn’t much fancy waiting around to be rescued like a silly damsel or helpless Princess. He was a Prince, and he was not interested in being a dragon’s captive. Arthur could only imagine the sort of things his brothers would have to say if he had to be rescued by one of his father’s knights, and he was not prepared to give them the opportunity.

No, he would not wait around to be saved.

Slowly, Arthur sat up and took stock of his surroundings. Blue scales fenced him in on all sides; the beast’s massive head was resting atop its front claws, and its body was curled around to form a wall of blue. He would have to climb over if he wanted to escape.

Fear of waking the dragon set Arthur’s heart to pounding. What if it ate him? Or rolled in its sleep and crushed him? If he woke it and it decided he wasn’t worth keeping, he wouldn’t stand a chance. But if he stayed, there was no guarantee of how long he’d stay in favor. It was only a matter of time; escape was his only real chance.

Arthur eyed the dragon nervously, suspicious that it might only be pretending to sleep in order to trick him. Dragons were known for being cunning and outsmarting their prey. This could easily be a trap. Perhaps it would be better to wait and see what the beast would do next.

No, no, he was not just going to sit around waiting. He was not helpless. He was a Prince. He could do this.

Gathering up his courage, the blond Prince shifted onto his knees and began to crawl towards the dragon’s elbows, hoping there might be a space there big enough for him to squeeze through. He was disappointed to find that the way the dragon had curled itself around effectively blocked the space that would have been left between its leg and its ribs. But Arthur set his jaw and rose to his feet. If he had to climb over, then he would climb over.

His fear of being eaten was shoved down and covered over as Arthur paced back along towards the dragon’s head. The creature was huge; its forearms were nearly as high as Arthur was tall, so escaping them wouldn’t be easy. He would have to climb, but its scales were rough and tightly layered over each other. Using them to hold onto in order to pull himself up wasn’t an option. Perhaps, if he got a bit of a running start, he could jump and haul himself over. Yes, that was probably his best option. He certainly wouldn’t be able to jump high enough from a standstill.

Determined, the green-eyed blond backed up until he was nearly touching the dragon’s shoulder and took a deep breath. He had one try at this, otherwise he risked waking the dragon and suffering its wrath.

He could do this. He was young and fit and healthy. A little jump like this would be easy. Trying to talk himself up didn’t help as much as Arthur hoped it would. Fear still clung to him, making his legs feel weak and unsteady. He could feel his pulse racing; it felt like his heart had crawled up into his throat.

He was about to try to escape a dragon.

_This is mad._

Maybe, but that didn’t change his mind. He was escaping, one way or another.

Arthur took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and ran. There was only enough space for three-and-a-half strides before the Prince had to jump, using the momentum to drive himself up. He hit the dragon’s forearm and scrambled for a hold, managing to pull himself nearly halfway over. Only when he was sure he wasn’t about to slide backwards and fall did Arthur pause and listen. The dragon remained still, its breathing slow and steady; it hadn’t woken up.

Encouraged, Arthur hauled himself farther onto the dragon’s foreleg and twisted until he was lying lengthwise on the scaly limb. Even here, at the smallest part of the dragon’s leg, it was almost too wide for Arthur’s outstretched arms. It didn’t seem quite real to the blond that any living creature could be so huge, even while he was right there touching it.

For a moment, the Prince allowed himself to revel in the sheer size and power of it. All his reading and research could never have prepared him for coming face-to-face with a real, live dragon. As terrifying as it was to know this creature could kill him without a thought, right now, while the dragon slept and all was quiet, he was not afraid, but in awe. That could only last a moment, however, then Arthur slid himself over and swung his legs down. When he dropped and turned, he was surprised to find himself suddenly surrounded not by blue, but by green. Tall, swaying blades of grass higher than his head blocked his view in every direction except back, which was the dragon’s foreleg. He was free, but had no idea which way to go.

He supposed he would try forward and hope for the best.

But Arthur was cautious in his movements, choosing to part the grass and move slowly rather than start running. As much as he wanted to be away from the beast that had stolen him, he wasn’t about to take off and blunder into some other terrible creature. He didn’t know where he was or what else might be living here. It could be even worse than a dragon, and he was sure that was possible. Dragons, at least, were said to have manners and intelligence. There were plenty of other beasts that weren’t nearly as well thought of.

It was slow going, picking his way through the grass. He could hear birds singing nearby, and water moving, and chose that as his compass. Moving water meant it was coming from somewhere and going somewhere else. If he could find the water, perhaps he could find a way out of this place.

Soon enough, the grass thinned out and gave way to moss and small, leafy plants growing between rocks along the banks of a river. To one side, a lake, perfectly still, reflected the same pale blue as the morning sky. To the other, the river twisted away and vanished into the grass and trees. Arthur broke into a jog and began following the river, putting more distance between himself and his scaly kidnapper.

Before long, it became apparent that this escape would not be quick or easy. While he was no longer in the dragon’s grasp, he was far from free. Where was he that the grass grew so high? That the trees were so tall without thick trunks or dense foliage? He’d never seen a place like this one—the dragon must have carried him far, far from home.

Fear that he might not be able to find his way back even if he managed to keep away from the dragon began to seep into Arthur’s thoughts. He could be anywhere—he had no idea how long he’d slept, or how far the dragon could fly in that time. There may as well be an ocean between him and home, for all he knew.

Arthur slowed then stopped, his footsteps faltering as he stared at the ground a few feet in front of himself, not really seeing the dirt and weeds.

This was pointless. He had no food, no supplies, nothing. How was he supposed to find his way home without having any idea where he was?

Tears began to prick at the Prince’s eyes, threatening to spill over as his chest tightened painfully; he could feel his shoulders shaking as he held back sobs.

He was helpless.

A sudden roar interrupted the blond’s anguish and startled Arthur back into a run, his lungs aching as they tried to pull in enough air. The dragon was awake.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur ran. His booted feet pounded the rocks along the river, splashing in puddles and sending smaller stones clattering out of his way. Another roar made him duck instinctively, as if the dragon was just overhead, his arms coming up as a feeble shield. When he wasn’t snatched up, the blond cast a terrified glance at the sky—the grass was too tall for him to see much, but he felt a ripple of relief that the dragon wasn’t in view. He slowed, keeping an eye out for the winged shape as he ran, his movements less panicked now.

_He’ll see me if I stay out of the grass._

The open river bank was definitely a more vulnerable position than being in the grass. If he didn’t take cover, the dragon would spot him in an instant and there would be no hope of escape.

His direction changed and Arthur cut into the grass at an angle, not bothering to keep the tall blades from whipping at his face and neck as he ran. Stinging sensations told him the grass was taking advantage of his bared flesh, covering his face and hands in tiny cuts that would itch later, but he didn’t slow. He had to run, had to get away.

It was the sound of wind that told him the dragon had taken to the skies. He could hear it, every beat of the beast’s wings pushing the air and creating a _whoosh_ of wind that was much too loud for the gentle breezes swaying the grass. And he could hear it getting closer.

Adrenaline pulsed through the Prince’s veins, driving him to move faster, to rip his way through the grass. His heart was pounding in his ears, accompanying the ragged sound of his own breathing and the dull thudding of his boots on grass and dirt.

The _whoosh_ ing stopped. Its sudden disappearance made the blond freeze, green eyes wide as he strained to listen and didn’t dare move. Even his breathing was forcibly subdued to quiet it. He hadn’t heard the dragon growing farther away. It had been getting closer, and now….nothing. Silence but for his own heart, the quiet whisper of wind through grass. Not even the river was close enough to hear.

A shadow fell over him, immense and inescapable.

Arthur dropped, his arms covering his head as he curled in on himself, whether to hide or simply out of fear, he didn’t know. Seconds later, the earth shook beneath him as something massive struck the ground, the tremors running up into his limbs and making the Prince cringe. He could feel himself trembling. The low rumble of the dragon’s breathing just above him was enough to make his heart falter.

This was it. He would be eaten, swallowed in a single bite, dead and forgotten. Arthur braced for his inevitable death, silently praying that it would be swift and relatively painless.

Nothing happened.

He could feel the presence of the dragon mere feet away, could hear it breathe and was absolutely certain its gaze was focused on him, but the beast didn’t eat him. Was it waiting for something? Or did it want him to stew in his own terror for a few minutes before finally devouring him? Sadistic creature.

Minutes passed, and still the Prince was left unharmed. What was going on? Why wasn’t he dead?

Confused, Arthur slowly relaxed out of the tight ball he’d curled into, listening carefully for any sign of movement from the dragon. There was none. Utterly bewildered now, he uncovered his head and pushed himself to his knees, his hands braced in the soft earth. When he lifted his head, he found a long, blue snout only a foot away from his face. Warm breath that smelled faintly of ash and smoke caressed his skin. Arthur stared blankly, gaze traveling down the snout to a pair of great blue eyes.

The dragon’s head was upside down, its neck curving up and over Arthur towards its body behind the blond. It was such an unexpected, ridiculous sight that Arthur snorted and began to laugh. The dragon cocked its head, listening to the sound of the Prince’s somewhat hysterical laughter, then blew a puff of pale smoke at the blond. Arthur coughed and waved it away with a hand, still chuckling.

“Some ferocious beast you are.” He almost grinned.

Huffing, the dragon withdrew, lifting its head and working its jaw as if offended by the Prince’s teasing. When it looked back down at him, Arthur felt a thrill of fear—would it eat him now?—before he was effortlessly picked up in one large claw and carried off.

Well, this was definitely not going the way he’d expected. This dragon was clearly not of the more aggressive types that some of the legends had told of. It hadn’t snatched him, hadn’t roared at him or bared its teeth, or made any displays of strength or anger at all. It had made him laugh, and now carried him gently, like a nurse whose young charge had temporarily escaped and now had to be brought back to its crib.

Perhaps he really had been chosen as a favorite? That would follow with the tales of intelligent dragons, creatures that could speak and read and write, that enjoyed art and poetry and music. Come to think of it, many of the dragons from such stories had been blue or green, occasionally purple or gold. Red dragons tended to be less artistically inclined, at least according to what Arthur had read.

His captor was brilliant blue—perhaps it could speak.

“Ah…excuse me…?” Arthur was embarrassed by his own timidity. His voice had come out small and frightened; he’d almost _squeaked._ It was shameful. If the dragon really was as intelligent as the legends said, it certainly wouldn’t consider him respectable if he didn’t behave like the Prince he was.

Clearing his throat, the blond straightened his shoulders as much as he could manage while being carried by a massive fire-breathing lizard.

“Excuse me, mighty dragon!” he called, voice louder and (mostly) steady this time. Either the beast didn’t hear, or it was ignoring him—there wasn’t so much as a twitch to indicate it had even noticed him speaking. “Dragon!”

The blue giant huffed, a thin stream of white smoke curling up from its snout and quickly dissipating.

Arthur took that to mean it was ignoring him. Miffed, the Prince blew air out his nose—much the same way the dragon had just done—and turned his attention instead to their surroundings. If his captor wasn’t going to acknowledge him, then he wouldn’t waste his time. Besides, being carried had its advantages, even if it was slightly uncomfortable. From here, Arthur could see far more than he could from the ground. The grass he’d been running through stretched out before him, broken only by the stream and dotted by tall, thin trees. It spread in every direction until it met with a wall of gray that seemed to rise impossibly high before it gave way to pale blue. This wasn’t like anything he was familiar with. The dragon had carried him far, far from home.

Fear bubbled up in the blond’s throat, tears suddenly stinging at his eyes. Home. The castle wasn’t always where he wanted to be, but it was all he’d ever really known, and now he’d been stolen away to this unknown valley. They were in the mountains, he was sure of it, nearly a week’s hard ride from the castle. It would be days before anyone came looking for him, if anyone came at all. The whole kingdom probably knew that their youngest Prince had been taken by a dragon by now. He would be a laughingstock. It had already been his brothers’ favorite game to treat him as if he were a Princess, and even if he survived long enough to be found, their taunting would only grow worse because of it. People had never given him quite as much respect as his brothers because he was the youngest. Being stolen would do nothing to help his reputation. Still, he longed for the comfort and safety of the castle. He missed his rooms and his books and his bed, and his washroom.

Thinking of all the comforts he’d left behind at the castle forced Arthur to realize how filthy he was. He hadn’t taken a bath since before visiting the training encampment with his brothers. By now, he had to smell of nothing but horse and sweat and grime.

_Far from home, dirty, nothing to eat, no hope of escape._

The tears came hot and fast now, overflowing before Arthur had a chance to fight them back. They ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin, falling to land on the dragon’s hard scales with tiny taps. He drew a breath in, throat painfully tight, and let it out in a slow, shaky breath so he wouldn’t start sobbing. Already his nose felt congested and full of pressure, and the tears continued.

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths regardless of how tight and unsteady his lungs felt. He would _not_ fall apart, damn it! He was a Prince and he was going to behave like one, even if he had been stolen by a dragon. Crying like a baby wouldn’t do him any good.

Slowly, the tears subsided, and his shoulders stopped shaking. He took deep, gasping breaths to ease the ache in his chest, knew the pressure in his sinuses would go away soon, too, so long as he could calm down. If he could just breathe, he’d be all right.

Regaining control of himself took another few minutes, but then Arthur wiped his eyes and set his jaw. There was no point to feeling helpless. He’d tried to escape on his own, and he’d failed. Now he would just have to wait for another chance and try again, or wait for his father’s knights to arrive to slay the dragon and bring him home, whichever came first. It would take days for anyone to come to his rescue, he knew, but he was determined to live that long, and escape if the chance presented itself. And he most certainly wouldn’t be doing any more crying! He was a Prince of the Kingdom and he would not waste his time on useless whining. If anything, he should put his time as the dragon’s captive to use. Dragons were creatures of legend, after all. Perhaps he could learn something from this one.

It helped to give himself a job to do, something to focus on besides how miserable he was. Arthur had always been studious, spending hours upon hours in his father’s library, reading anything and everything that caught his fancy. And because of this beast, his most recent focus had been dragons. Now he was up close and personal to one—why waste the opportunity? If he learned enough, then when he returned home he could write his own story to add to the legends.

Yes, that would be brilliant. He was a Prince, captured by a dragon that carried him far from home. If he survived, it could be a thrilling tale. How many legends were there about Princes being the captive? He hadn’t read any at all. To be the first would certainly gain him some prestige. Arthur could see it now: the first Prince to ever be chosen as a dragon’s favorite, his cunning and will to live the only resources available to make his escape, his triumphant return to the castle, armed with new knowledge of the beasts the likes of which none had ever heard. He would be hailed as a hero. His brothers would never call him weak again.

If nothing else, his desire to exceed his brothers’ expectations would keep him alive, and for now, it kept him calm and quiet and determined as the dragon carried him on.

Since he didn’t recognize his surroundings and had no hope of seeing a way to escape from here, Arthur turned his attention to his captor. This was the first dragon he’d ever seen in real life, though it did match the likeness of the paintings and tapestries and other works of art he’d seen. All dragons looked a bit different, he knew, and this was certainly an impressive specimen.

From here, he could see relatively little without craning his neck uncomfortably far, so he settled for examining the scales wrapped around his body.

Curious, the Prince ran his fingers over the ridges and felt around the overlaps. They felt hard and smooth under his hands, not cold, but like a stone warmed by the sun. Whether or not that warmth was from the dragon or not, he didn’t know. It would be something to try to learn about. There was, interestingly enough, a slight reflective quality to them, not quite a shine or a sparkle, but like a faint shimmer, as if the beast would appear iridescent in the proper lighting. Arthur supposed that would be rather beautiful to see.

Frightening as dragons were said to be, the blond couldn’t help but be in awe of the creature.

The pair eventually came to a place where much of the grass had been flattened, and the dragon, rather gently, set Arthur down. He watched it pull away from him, still fascinated by the beast’s scales. They’d been impressive enough while the creature was asleep and unmoving, but now, as they shifted over each other, almost gliding while the muscles beneath flexed and stretched, they were like watching water.

Iridescent, indeed. The blue shades seemed to shift and flow across its body.

Arthur watched, mesmerized, as the beast backed a few steps away and settled its body to the ground, forelegs crossing in front of its chest. A long, slender tail came into view, curling around the dragon’s side, displaying a rather deadly-looking barb near the end. That wasn’t something the blond had ever read about in his father’s library—he made a mental note to examine it more closely if he got the chance before turning his attention back to the beast’s face.

It looked back at him, scaly expression too subtle for the Prince to read. It appeared to be waiting for him to make the first move.

For a long minute, Arthur stayed where he was, barely even daring to breathe. He could feel himself trembling under that cold, blue-eyed gaze; his heart was pounding so hard he was sure a beast with as sensitive of hearing as a dragon could hear it. It had to know he was afraid, yet it did nothing, merely looked, and waited.

Slowly, Arthur took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out through his mouth. His nerves quieted as he exhaled, and he felt himself steadying. It wasn’t attacking him. He was all right. All he had to do was breathe. In…out…slow and even until he felt his heart begin to quiet. Now was not the time to lose his head. There was no telling what the beast would do if he acted upset and annoyed it. His death would be as easy as a lazily swiped claw to the dragon, and he had no desire to die.

No, better to keep himself calm and focus on studying his captor. It did look much the same as the dragon depictions he’d seen while growing up, but that tail barb was unexpected. What other secrets was this dragon hiding?

His curiosity began to get the better of him, and Arthur turned his attention outwards once more. To his surprise, he found that he’d been so focused on his breathing and his heartrate, he hadn’t realized that he and the dragon were still staring at each other. Those eyes seemed endless.

Shaking himself, the blond Prince looked away from the dragon’s eyes and began to examine its body, intent on finding anything else unusual about his captor.

The dragon was of a formidable size, its head easily higher than a two-story building even lying down, though that was mostly due to its long, serpentine neck. Its wings were folded close to its sides, hiding their size and shape, but Arthur was content to wait to see them. His attention went to the dragon’s legs, not particularly long, but they didn’t appear stunted, either, and had kept Arthur’s torso out of the grass as he was carried. That would put it at about seven feet, as Arthur was a bit less than six, and hadn’t been able to see over the green blades. The forepaws looked rather like hands, each scaled finger ending in a short, hooked black talon that dug into the earth with ease from their own weight. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were sharp enough to cut through a tree trunk—that was common to dragon legends.

Its body was slender, broadest at the shoulder and hip, back sloping away from its neck and into its tail. And there was that barb, pale and rough like a splinter of bone, threatening death to anything it might impale. Arthur wondered if it was something many dragons had, or if this was specific to a rare species. Plenty of the legends he’d been reading featured blue dragons, and this dragon was certainly blue, but it didn’t fit with the stories. Blue dragons were associated with rivers and lakes, and the largest were said to dwell in the ocean. If this dragon was the same species as the others of its color, then why had it taken Arthur high up into the mountains? Why was its lair a valley with a stream, and not an underwater cave system, like he’d read about?

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” the green-eyed blond asked aloud, his eyes still on the barb, not at all expecting an answer. To his surprise, the dragon let out a strange rumbling noise, twin tendrils of pale smoke floating up from its nostrils. Was it…laughing?

Well, that certainly fit with the legends.

Arthur fought back a smile and smoothed his hands down the front of his dirtied tunic. “Laugh all you like, dragon. Whether you understand me or not, I know you’re not some dumb beast.”

Scaly blue lips pulled back, revealing rows of impossibly sharp white teeth, and Arthur swallowed thickly in sudden fear. It was the most terrifying grin he’d ever seen.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was high, warming the valley until Arthur began to feel sweat gathering on his skin. Even sitting in the shade of one of the trees, he felt hot and sticky and, well, disgusting. What he wouldn’t have given for a cool drink and a nice bath. If he’d been home, he could be soaking in his tub right now, enjoying a light snack and a book, having his hair combed. Instead, he was sitting in the dirt under some scraggly tree with no food, no drink, and no bath.

Gods, he felt filthy.

His unhappiness growing the longer he dwelt on it, Arthur let out a heavy breath and sank against the tree’s thin trunk. He crossed his arms over his chest, gaze shifting to land on the great blue dragon that lay only a few yards away. It was to blame for this. It had stolen him right out of his room, brought him here to this valley, and kept him prisoner. And for what purpose? Arthur wasn’t a princess, he didn’t sing, or recite poetry, or any of those other traits the legends said dragons favored. He hadn’t been eaten, either. What the hell did the beast want him for?

Arthur sighed again and let his booted feet slip against the dirt, his legs stretching out in front of him.

_Stupid, ugly dragon._

It wasn’t as nasty a thought as he meant it to be. He wanted to hate the creature, and he did resent it for stealing him, but there was no denying it was beautiful, and impressive. Oddly, he was almost reminded of the cats he’d seen trotting around in the castle’s kitchens. The cooks used them to keep the lauders and cellars free of mice and rats—he’d spotted more than one settled atop a shelf or cupboard in almost the same pose as the dragon had now. The legends he’d read hadn’t mentioned cats, at least not that he could remember. Was it simply an overlooked similarity, or was it another of the peculiarities of this specific dragon? It certainly didn’t remind him of any of the small lizards he was familiar with.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re different?” he asked, and was not at all surprised when the dragon barely even shifted to signal it heard him. “You’re not going to talk to me at all, are you.”

A huff of pale smoke.

“I’m hungry.”

The beast turned its head away, as if ignoring him. Arthur wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not, but he rolled his eyes just the same.

“Very well.” Bracing his hands in the dirt, the Prince pushed himself upright then rose to his feet and dusted himself off as best he could manage. “You clearly have no intention of speaking to me, even if you can. I’m going for a bath.” The dragon looked at him as Arthur turned and headed off into the grass. He hoped it was the same way as he’d gone before, since what he wanted was to find the river and follow it to, ideally, a lake.

It was only a few seconds before he felt the slight tremors as the dragon rose to its feet and followed him.

As tempted as he was to turn and look back, Arthur kept his attention on where he was going. The beast didn’t seem to be angry—either it wasn’t worried about him getting away, or it had understood him and knew he wasn’t trying to escape. It made little noise as it moved, its slender body easily passing through the grass, keeping several feet behind the blond.

Eventually, the sound of water told him that he was heading in the right direction. Arthur picked up his pace, more confident in his actions, and soon came across the same riverbank as before. This time, he paused long enough to survey his surroundings, noting the smooth, rounded stones and sandy soil, the moss that grew between the rocks. The riverbed seemed much wider than the river itself—he would guess that it flooded regularly.

Warm air gusted against the back of his neck and Arthur felt goosebumps rise on his skin, suddenly aware that the dragon was right behind him, probably only a few steps away. He turned, slowly, and was met with those large eyes, the beast’s head lowered towards his own. It was right there, its long neck a graceful curve extending from its shoulders, putting its snout almost within arm’s reach of the blond.

Arthur felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch the creature, both in awe and fearful of it. Should he? Was that what it wanted? It hadn’t acted aggressively towards him yet, and had deliberately come so close. The dragon had no reason whatsoever to fear him or keep its distance. But would trying to touch it make it angry?

His fingers twitched, already remembering the texture of the beast’s scales, but Arthur didn’t move. Risking his arm was not a good idea. Still, another moment passed before he finally turned away from the dragon and began walking along the river. The beast followed within a few seconds, its large claws crunching quietly against the stones. They walked together in near silence, as peaceful as a kidnapped Prince could be while followed by his dragon captor.

It was, by far, the oddest situation Arthur had ever been in.

He could feel the dragon’s eyes on him, knew it was watching his every movement, and it made him incredibly self-conscious. That, of course, was ridiculous because, as a Prince, he was more than accustomed to being watched by large crowds, and he knew how he was expected to look and behave. Chin up, shoulders back, expression alert but relaxed, his clothing straight and clean. But Arthur was not clean or polished now, he was not astride his horse or standing proudly beside his father and brothers. There was no cheering crowd or assembled nobles. Arthur was dirty and tired, his clothes were disheveled, he was hungry, and his only audience was a strange blue dragon that seemed to understand him even though it had yet to communicate.

“Odd” didn’t quite cover it.

Still, he continued on as calmly as he could manage until the ground beneath him began to fall away into a gentle slope, meandering downward towards the bottom of the valley. Below, he could see where the stream bed opened up and melted into a rather large lake cradled there, a perfectly still reflection of the sky. It was, by all standards, beautiful, and Arthur paused at the top of the hill to admire it. A breeze swayed the grass, making it glisten in the sunlight; somewhere in the craggy trees, a bird sang.

“You’ve found a paradise,” the Prince commented absently, only half aware of the dragon waiting so close by. He couldn’t imagine anyone would have believed such a place could exist in the Teeth. Truly, the dragon had discovered the perfect hiding place.

A low rumble startled Arthur out of his reverie, and he finally realized that the dragon was, in fact, touchably close. It had stopped with him, and lowered its head until they were very nearly at eye level. Being so close to the great beast’s face nearly set Arthur to trembling. One snap of those massive jaws, and that would be it—no more Prince Arthur, he would be devoured. And yet, as before, the dragon merely looked back at him, blue eyes clear and unblinking, refusing to betray what sort of intelligence owned them.

Slowly, as slowly as he could manage, Arthur lifted a hand. Those great pupils shifted, deep black slits against the blue, watching his trembling fingers come closer. Fear and excitement coursed through his veins. Would it allow him to touch its face?

Just when Arthur thought it would, the dragon huffed, its scalding, smoky breath wrapping around him. He yelped then coughed, unable to breathe the foul-smelling air, his hand now curled close to his chest as he turned away and stumbled down the hill in search of fresh air. A few clumsy steps and he fell to his knees, coughing violently.

“Damn it—!” he wheezed, eyes watering, then coughed again, his entire body shuddering with the force of his lungs trying to expel the tainted air he’d inhaled. “Great s-stupid beast!”

From its place atop the hill, the dragon watched him slowly recover, its head tilted as if curious as to why the blond was behaving so strangely. Eventually, when his breathing had mostly settled, Arthur turned over and sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his uninjured hand.

“Ugh…” Drawing his knees to his chest, Arthur rested his forehead on them and closed his eyes, just focusing on taking deep, even breaths to ease the ache in his chest. His hand stung, the skin tight and uncomfortable, and his eyes continued to water. A breath of air wasn’t much to bother about, until it came from a dragon. It had been hot, much too hot for comfort, and impossible to breathe with such a strong smell of ash and smoke that Arthur was a bit surprised he hadn’t been sick from coughing so much.

Only when his lungs stopped fighting every breath did Arthur uncurl and let his knees fall to the sides, resting his hands in his lap. His right hand, the one he’d extended to the dragon, was an angry pink color, clearly burned from the heat of the beast’s breath.

“Brilliant,” the Prince muttered, gingerly flexing his hand to test the extent of the damage. The movement caused a twinge as his flesh pulled over the muscles, but it didn’t seem too serious. So long as he was careful with it, he thought it might heal within a few days.

With a sigh, Arthur fell back into the grass and closed his eyes again, his hands resting on his stomach. “Not doing that again.”

Maybe it served him right, being burned like this, but he hadn’t meant to make the dragon angry. It hadn’t acted at all aggressive towards him before, and even the breath didn’t seem much like an attack. Perhaps it simply didn’t understand that its breath was harmful?

Arthur sat up and looked towards the top of the hill where the dragon still waited. No signs of anger, no defensive body language, nothing but those eyes watching him, as unreadable as ever.

“You’re not going to tell me a thing, are you.”

It blinked.

Not a thing.

Sighing once again—he seemed to do that a lot around this creature—Arthur picked himself up and dusted himself off. He needed that bath even more now that he smelled of smoke and sported fresh dirt on his clothes, and was glad the lake was within sight. With a bit of extra eagerness in his step, the Prince continued on down the hill until he reached the lake’s rocky shore. The stones shifted just slightly under his boots, enough to make noise, but not to the point of stumbling. They seemed fairly well settled into the rough sand peeking between their rounded tops. Arthur paused for only a moment, looking either way along the shoreline in search of the perfect spot to leave his clothes and take a dip in the lake. At first glance, the lake appeared to be almost perfectly round, an oval stretching along the valley’s floor, fed by the river. He could clearly see the other end, and the shore appeared to be the same, fist-sized stones all the way around. From here, the was no way of telling how deep it ran, but Arthur had heard that mountain lakes sometimes dropped into deep chasms that, once entered, were impossible to navigate or escape. It would be best to stay close to the shore.

Careful of his injured hand, Arthur set to stripping. The laces on his tunic proved difficult for the sensitive skin, but he managed them quickly enough and dropped the discarded cloth at his feet. His shirt was off over his head mere seconds later, followed by his belt and trousers. Unlacing his boots took a bit of time, but he was free of them after a few minutes of careful picking and tugging, and kicked them off to lie closer to the grass, safely away from the water’s edge.

Naked now, the blond Prince put the rest of his clothes in a pile before heading for the water. They were filthy and would need washed, but he would tend to that later. First, he wanted a bath.

Arthur was eager but cautious as he approached the lake, and was careful as he took his first step in. Immediately, the icy cold of the water set his foot to aching and he gasped sharply, pulling his foot back out. “Ah!”

He dropped, sitting hard on the rocks—his backside was likely going to bruise—and set about rubbing his foot to get rid of the lingering ache. “Ugh, how am I supposed to bathe in this? It’s like ice! I’d be too frozen to wash!”

Tears of frustration began to prick at his eyes and Arthur hastily wiped them away. He was _not_ going to cry! Not naked in some valley in front of some dragon!

Arthur sniffled and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He needed to think. His hand hurt. His ass hurt. He was filthy and hungry. A dragon had stolen him. He needed to think. Crying was useless.

_Think, Arthur. You’re a Prince. Think._

With a deep, calming breath, Arthur relaxed his body into a more comfortable sitting position. The rocks weren’t too terribly rough or uneven, at least not to the point of needing to sit somewhere else, though he was likely to find himself bruised in a day or so. But that was the least of his worries. He still needed a bath.

“Mountain lakes are melted snow,” the Prince reminded himself. “The water this high up never warms, it’s too cold for a bath or to swim.

“I still need a bath, I can’t stand being this filthy.

“The water is so cold it froze my foot to pain, I can’t bathe in it.

“I take hot baths at home—I can heat this water, too.

“How?

“Build a fire.”

Having talked himself to that conclusion, Arthur stood once more and scanned his surroundings—a fire was simple enough, if he could find the proper materials. From his place on the lakeshore, he couldn’t spot anything he could use to build a fire—the grass was too lush and green, and the trees didn’t appear dry in the least. None of it would light easily, and he didn’t have his flint. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure his hand was in any shape to grip it or gather fuel.

Arthur stared at his scalded hand for several long moments.

“A _dragon!_ ” he shouted, his voice echoing slightly. “You!” The Prince spun around to where the dragon had settled in the grass not so far away. “You breathe fire!”

It looked at him, offering no indication of whether or not it understood.

Despite the fact that he was naked and defenseless, Arthur took a few steps closer to the beast and pointed to the lake. “Breathe fire! Heat the water!”

The dragon’s head turned towards the lake, then back to him, and still it made no move to actually respond.

“Can’t you speak? The legends tell of dragons that speak and sing and tell riddles. Are you a dumb beast?”

A huff, and a lifted chin. Had he offended it?

“You stole me,” Arthur was accusatory, “your scales may stay beautiful on their own, but I do not. I need to bathe. I cannot bathe in freezing mountain water. If you stole me for a purpose, surely that purpose is better served if I’m clean?”

The dragon blinked, but did not look at him.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll not be kept here, dirty and starved, like some peasant’s dog!” he spoke in his most commanding, Princely tone, the one he used when the castle servants stepped out of line, and that, at least, seemed to gain the beast’s attention.

It rose, impossibly tall, and stared down at him in way that took all the strength out of Arthur’s legs. He thought for a moment that he might fall, but managed to keep his balance. If it ate him, his last moments would not be spent cowering.

Seconds passed as neither of them moved. Finally, Arthur couldn’t take it.

“Well?” He tried to sound impatient and expectant, but his voice cracked slightly.

The dragon blinked, examining him, and Arthur thought it might be sizing him up to be a single bite.

_Here it comes,_ he thought, closing his eyes and clenching his hands into fists. _Prince Arthur, may he rest in peace._

Not until he heard rocks clattering against each other did the blond open his eyes, and he hardly believed what he saw. The dragon had moved from its place and was instead crouching by the water’s edge, in nearly the exact pose Arthur had seen the castle mousers assume when lapping from a dish. Its snakelike neck extended past the shoreline, out over the water, head tilting one way then the other as it peered down into the lake’s depths. Then, without warning, the dragon dipped its snout into the water, opened its mouth, and exhaled a swirl of bubbles of flame.

Arthur’s jaw dropped as he stood watching, dumbfounded. It understood him? It understood his language and what he’d requested?

_Incredible. The legends are true, then. Dragons are intelligent._

A smile came to the Prince’s lips and he moved closer to the water, watching as the surface around the dragon’s mouth bubbled and let off steam, boiling from the heat of its breath.

“Not a dumb beast, after all,” he mused, and one of the beast’s eyes rolled towards him; he could have sworn it was grinning at him, even as it let out another flash of flame.


End file.
